What wonder then that into her wild and passionate soul should creep the
pangs of jealousy when another claimed the homage of him who was all to
her!
Glaucus loved Ione, a beautiful young Neapolitan of Greek parentage who
had lately come to Pompeii. She was one of those brilliant characters
which seldom flash across our career. She united in the highest
perfection the rarest of earthly gifts,--Genius and Beauty. No one ever
possessed superior intellectual qualities without knowing them. In the
person of Ione, Glaucus found the long-sought idol of his dreams; and so
infatuated was he, that he could talk of no one else. No song was sweet
but that which breathed of love, and to him love was but a synonym of
Ione.
"Play to us, dear Nydia,--play, and give us one of thy songs; whether it
be of magic or not as thou wilt--let it at least be of love."
"Of love! wish you that I should sing of love?"
"Yes."
She moved a little way from Ione, who had learned to love her more as a
sister than a slave, and placing her light, graceful instrument on her
knee, after a short prelude, she sang the following strain, in which
with touching pathos, her own sighs were represented by the _Wind_, the
brightness of the beautiful Ione by the _Sun-beam_, and the personality
of Glaucus by his favorite flower, the _Rose_.
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