 | Songs of the Sea Nymphs |  |
EXTRACTS FROM ADELAIDE AND REGINALD,
A Fairy Tale of Bosworth Field.
From Canto I.
The sun had goined the distant hill,And shed his last red ling'ring rays,
Athwart the ruby tinted rill,
Which threw bright gems on drooping sprays.
Reapers had left the smiling plains,
Where harvest wav'd his golden head,
Bending beneath the weighty grains,
Which sighing gales profusely shed.
Lovers had left the noisy town,
And sought the hills or scented fields,
Where health smiled o'er the woodland brown,
And evening fragrant kisses yields.
20
And sought their homes—the finny realms
Ran darker, as the night-breeze bent
The lofty boughs of shady elms.
'Twas sweet to hear the village bell,
Peal slowly thro' the calm blue sky;
Or catch that sighing word,—“farewell”
Cheer'd with the kiss which echoed by.
Sweet was the sound of wimpling brooks,
Which through old narrow arches stray;
Sweet was the “caw” of wood bound rooks,
Winging thro' heaven their pathless way;
Sweetly the rural maiden's song,
Rang o'er the tranquil evening scene;
The ploughboy rolled his notes among
Those warbled by the village queen;
Sweet was their plighted vows beneath,
Some aged thorn, or spreading oak;
'Twas sweet to see the wild-flower wreath,
Twin'd round fair brows where bright eyes spoke
Sweet was the sound of lowing kine,
As slowly o'er the mead they stray,
To gain some tow'ring clumps of pine,
And wait the voice of rosy day,
Sweet flew the gale o'er corn-fields ripe,
And fann'd the cheek with scented wings,
Sweetly the blackbird's mellow pipe,
Along the drowsy woodland rings.
Sweet was the vesper linnets sung,
From flow'ry banks and shady trees;
21
Of hive-bound honey-laden bees.
The buzzing beetle darting by,
Shook the light dew from waving leaves;
Sweetly the merry voices fly,
Of children, toppling down the sheaves.
Sweet shone the radiant evening star,
Thro' shrouded fields of heavenly blue;
Night shook his black locks, wide and far,
The sable ringlets darkling flew,
While trees to seeming giants grew.
The nightingale, with thrilling note,
Sung night's soft hymn:—the trembling sound,
Light o'er the list'ning valleys float;
Trent lingered, with green oziers crown'd;
Sweet was her song:-dim nature smil'd
In silence to her pleasing charm;
So smiles some drowsy, well-pleased child,
Lull'd by a song, on beauty's arm.
Nought harsh annoyed the 'tentive ear,
Save the alternate tramp of steed;
Or rush of some adventurous deer,
That sought the wood with lightning speed.
A lingering group might yet be seen,
Who talk'd of war's approaching fray;
How mail-clad knights had pass'd the green,
Full speed for Bosworth Field that day.
22
From Canto III.
Heard ye that trumpets piercing sound?Rang back by Richmond's answ'ring blast;
Felt ye that shock awake the ground?
When Clifton's stern troop hurried past.
What change, was by that trumpet wrought,
Revenge and uproar closely joins;
War slumbering, is a tempest fraught
With thunder—girded round his loins.
A moment since—the sun shone bright,
Reflecting shields returned the gleam;
Another moment—and for fight
The startling trump was heard to scream.
A moment since—the archer strung
His death bow for the approaching fray;
A moment more—the arrow sprung,
Whizzing—and low a warrior lay.
Brave Richard heads the fierce attack,
Dark death his sable banner bears;
Amazed, pale trembling ranks fall back,
Destruction on his blade appears.
He grasp'd his column shattering spear,
And sternly shook his shield of fire;
Blood splash'd upon his brow severe,
And clotting, stain'd his bright attire;
Death smil'd, and toss'd his banner higher.
So leaps the mountain torrent stern,
From crag to crag, from rock to rock,
Sweeping firs, oaks, beech, ash, and fern,
Adown with overwelming shock.
23
Shaking earth's adamantine base;
So fire-wing'd lightnings fiercely sweep
Cloud rending turrets from their place;
So foams the sea when hoarse winds roar,
And waves at heaven their curl'd heads dash;
Loud gathering from the groaning shore,
But to return with fiercer clash.
Steed rush'd on steed—blade clash'd to blade—
Armour to armour echoing rung;
While foes on foes, were thicker laid,
And frowning brows like black clouds hung.
Darker with arrows grew the sky,
Deeper proud war steeds dash'd in blood,
Fierce flamed each warrior's haughty eye,
Where shields like blazing comets stood.
The clash of arms—the neigh of steeds—
The groans—the clamour—the stern rout—
The banner stain'd with bloody deeds—
The roar—the tramp—the charge—the shout.—
The rolling head lopp'd from its trunk,
The locks of youth with black clots gor'd,
The sever'd arm, that low had sunk,
Although in death it grasp'd the sword.
The broken bow that useless lay,
Adown the dying archer's side,
The wounded steed that sought the fray,
The wreck—the din—the crimson tide—
Appear'd as tho' the thund'rer tried
To crush all nature 'ere he died,
24
Deeper was plung'd the blood dyed spear:
Fiercer was horse impell'd on horse,
How thrills the blood those sounds to hear:
“My wife”—he dies:—“my child”—ah! where:
“My soul”—“die traitor”—mingled there
'Mid sounds that came remote or near,
From beings, just merging to the sphere
Where that God dwells, all should revere!
While strength remains, few will relax
The work of death:—each brow grows black;
Plum'd helms gape 'neath the battle axe;
Deep groans return the fierce blows back.
So in a town, where storms assail,
And fierce winds lay whole fabrics low;
'Mid rush, and smoke, and piercing wail,
And blood retarded in its flow;
And dust, and crash of rattling glass,
And shrieks, and gusts, and thunder peal'd
With loudest, harshest, quickest pass,
Such was the din of Bosworth Field.
From Canto V.
Doubtless in childhood you have seen,
Sailing along the calm blue sky,
Cleaving the fields of brilliant sheen,
And show'ring silver from on high,
The bright Moon:—rob'd in snowy light,
Plating earth's face with silvery ore,
Waving bright chaplets round black night,
Or diamonding the sandy shore?
You oft have seen this beauteous sight,
Not in the light your poet view'd,
But stretching all tradition's might,
All that with legends are embued,
And fancy's countless multitude.
Doubtless I say, when clear from fog,
When clouds were calm, and riding high,
You've seen the moon-man and his dog,
With sticks compact, sail thro' the sky.
I oft have look'd, but all in vain,
To find his hat, yet never could,
Can't say I've seen his head quite plain,
So deem'd his hat was in the wood.
I oft have questioned, when a child,
What crime it was that brought him there?
They answered, “he was very wild,”
“And sabbath days did not revere;”
“That one good Sunday, Satan sent”
“His imp, who took him in a car,”
“And placed him there for punishment,”
“Because 'twas larger than a star.”
There he was seated, silver brow'd,
In heaven's bright fields, with night's fair queen,
Embosom'd on a snow white cloud,
That floated o'er the azure scene.
To sleep in Cynthia's glittering arms,
Be pillow'd on her radiant breast,
Gaze when he pleased on nature's charms.
And watch young zephyr to his rest.
To drink the midnight's pearly dew,
And dance with her o'er lake or moor,
Stars, clouds, and comets to pursue,
And ride in peace when ocean's roar.
Like her to wear a silver veil,
And kiss her lips behind some cloud,
Then hoist the dazzling, smooth, round sail,
And with her bright rays darkness shroud.
Why 'tis enough to turn one thief,
And send us sticking every Sunday,
Howe'er adverse to our belief,
If sure to be safe moon'd by Monday.
'Twas thus I thought—I might be wrong,
'Tis hard to make good reason stand,
Newton, and others have been throng,
To prove the moon was sea and land.
Such theories have great men taught,
Not knowing 'twas the fairy world;
I do:—to me the news was brought,
Or rather, through my brain it whirl'd;
I am no priest to keep it furl'd.
Sailing along the calm blue sky,
Cleaving the fields of brilliant sheen,
And show'ring silver from on high,
25
Plating earth's face with silvery ore,
Waving bright chaplets round black night,
Or diamonding the sandy shore?
You oft have seen this beauteous sight,
Not in the light your poet view'd,
But stretching all tradition's might,
All that with legends are embued,
And fancy's countless multitude.
Doubtless I say, when clear from fog,
When clouds were calm, and riding high,
You've seen the moon-man and his dog,
With sticks compact, sail thro' the sky.
I oft have look'd, but all in vain,
To find his hat, yet never could,
Can't say I've seen his head quite plain,
So deem'd his hat was in the wood.
I oft have questioned, when a child,
What crime it was that brought him there?
They answered, “he was very wild,”
“And sabbath days did not revere;”
“That one good Sunday, Satan sent”
“His imp, who took him in a car,”
“And placed him there for punishment,”
“Because 'twas larger than a star.”
There he was seated, silver brow'd,
In heaven's bright fields, with night's fair queen,
Embosom'd on a snow white cloud,
That floated o'er the azure scene.
26
Be pillow'd on her radiant breast,
Gaze when he pleased on nature's charms.
And watch young zephyr to his rest.
To drink the midnight's pearly dew,
And dance with her o'er lake or moor,
Stars, clouds, and comets to pursue,
And ride in peace when ocean's roar.
Like her to wear a silver veil,
And kiss her lips behind some cloud,
Then hoist the dazzling, smooth, round sail,
And with her bright rays darkness shroud.
Why 'tis enough to turn one thief,
And send us sticking every Sunday,
Howe'er adverse to our belief,
If sure to be safe moon'd by Monday.
'Twas thus I thought—I might be wrong,
'Tis hard to make good reason stand,
Newton, and others have been throng,
To prove the moon was sea and land.
Such theories have great men taught,
Not knowing 'twas the fairy world;
I do:—to me the news was brought,
Or rather, through my brain it whirl'd;
I am no priest to keep it furl'd.
27
SONG OF THE FAIRIES.
Where the enamel'd snake doth hiss,And evening dews bright blossoms kiss,
And white doves coo in downy bliss,
We merrily dance our mazy round,
O'er sweet unbending flowers we bound,
While silver moon beams light the ground.
On cloud capt mountain tops we go,
Where heavenly gales their fragrance throw,
Nor dimple we the drifted snow;
Or resting on a midnight cloud,
Or wrapt within a sable shroud,
We sing to night winds piping loud.
Our bright pavilion is a star,
Its beams, the pathway of our car,
We glide adown the shadowy spar;
Or hold our revels on a rock,
Where waves in foaming homage flock,
Lashing the base with thund'ring shock;
Or plunging thro' the white curled wave,
We walk in peace the coral cave,
Beneath the sailor's sea weed grave;
Or pace the mermaid's pearly hall,
Free from the ocean's deadly squall,
Or midnight's dark o'erwhelming pall.
We ride on lightning's wings of fire,
Which gleam athwart the lofty spire,
There strike we our enchanted lyre;
28
That splits the frowning crags asunder,
And fills mankind with fear and wonder;
Or sleep we in bright heath bells blue,
From whence the bees their treasure drew,
Our canopy's the evening dew;
Or lull'd to rest with zephyr mild,
That murmurs o'er the forest wild,
Soft as the sigh of some sweet child.
We guard the dark wood's raven shades,
We guard the moon-lit smiling glades,
When twilight o'er the mountain fades;
Our homes are hid in bells of flowers,
Our chariots are dark storms and showers,
Red lightnings are our halls and bowers,
Stars are our palaces and towers,
Earth, air, and ocean—all are ours.
From Canto VI.
Here marshal we the fairy sprites,
Who waited on their king and queen,
Such beauty as the eye delights
To view, bask'd on the hearth of green.
First, Primrose cast in lovely mould,
Grace in her fair light form was wove,
Pity, so famed in days of old,
Had made her gentle as a dove:—
Next, Zillah had a dark bright eye,
Where lightning hid its stream of fire,
Bespeaking transient passions nigh,
But soon was quenched her flaming ire.
Fair Rosa, was a blue eyed sprite,
Whose slumbering lips a kiss would wake,
They hung so tempting to the sight,
She watched the silver crested lake;
Woodbine was sweet, her red lips curl'd
Like flowers, whereon the bee doth rest,
'Twas rumoured throughout falry world,
That Oberon the maid caress'd.
Nightshade was crafty, dark, and deep,
Her brow, bore thunder's sable hue,
There anger lay, in feigned sleep,
Her face, a lake that mirror'd true,
These figured 'mid the numerous band,
Who roved thro' Oberon's gay court,
These were the stars of fairy land,
And join'd their monarch's moonlight sport.
Moonbeam advancing to the fire,
Which on the emerald hearth-stone glow'd,
Took from the wall Titania's lyre,
Struck the bright strings, and sang aloud,
Words which appall'd the list'ning crowd.
Who waited on their king and queen,
Such beauty as the eye delights
To view, bask'd on the hearth of green.
First, Primrose cast in lovely mould,
Grace in her fair light form was wove,
Pity, so famed in days of old,
Had made her gentle as a dove:—
29
Where lightning hid its stream of fire,
Bespeaking transient passions nigh,
But soon was quenched her flaming ire.
Fair Rosa, was a blue eyed sprite,
Whose slumbering lips a kiss would wake,
They hung so tempting to the sight,
She watched the silver crested lake;
Woodbine was sweet, her red lips curl'd
Like flowers, whereon the bee doth rest,
'Twas rumoured throughout falry world,
That Oberon the maid caress'd.
Nightshade was crafty, dark, and deep,
Her brow, bore thunder's sable hue,
There anger lay, in feigned sleep,
Her face, a lake that mirror'd true,
These figured 'mid the numerous band,
Who roved thro' Oberon's gay court,
These were the stars of fairy land,
And join'd their monarch's moonlight sport.
Moonbeam advancing to the fire,
Which on the emerald hearth-stone glow'd,
Took from the wall Titania's lyre,
Struck the bright strings, and sang aloud,
Words which appall'd the list'ning crowd.
30
MOONBEAM'S SONG.
“Hail! king of earth,And sea, and air,
Hail! mighty queen,
And fairies fair:
The rosy wreath,
Which gave you power,
And hung on high,
In Dian's bower,
Hangs there no more—
But in this hall,
Where I now stand,
This night shall fall:
Thy mighty power,
Hung on that string,
'Tis withered now,
Proud fairy king.
Richard is slain,
The stain'd white rose
No longer blooms,
The night wind strews,
Thro' heaven its leaves,
The stem is riven,
Thy wand to me,
The fates have given.
I've found you light,
Thousands of years,
And for your crimes,
Have oft shed tears,
31
You waved your wand,
And wreck'd the ship
On some dark strand.
Your reign is o'er,
Your race is run,
Beneath the moon,
Or glorious sun,
No more be seen,
Your ruby bowers,
Your crystal domes,
Or sapphire towers.”
He ceas'd—and hurl'd the golden lyre,
In anger from his threatening hand,
While Oberon's stern brow, like fire,
Glow'd as he grasp'd the silver wand.
Profoundly slept sweet Adelaide,
On the rich emerald rose crown'd bed,
Titania like Niobe stray'd,
By the blue lake where Rosa led;
Fair Woodbine trembled, sigh'd, and wept,
Zillah at Moonbeam dar'd to frown,
While Violet in a blue bell slept,
And scarcely bent its bright head down.
On a rich bed of chrysolite,
Lay beauteous Primrose sobbing loud;
Nightshade, soon glided out of sight,
Frowning like some black rolling cloud.
Unshrinkingly the fairy king,
Took up the harp his foe had flung,
On the bright floor, he swept the string,
While Moonbeam trembled as he sung.
In anger from his threatening hand,
While Oberon's stern brow, like fire,
Glow'd as he grasp'd the silver wand.
Profoundly slept sweet Adelaide,
On the rich emerald rose crown'd bed,
Titania like Niobe stray'd,
By the blue lake where Rosa led;
Fair Woodbine trembled, sigh'd, and wept,
Zillah at Moonbeam dar'd to frown,
While Violet in a blue bell slept,
And scarcely bent its bright head down.
On a rich bed of chrysolite,
Lay beauteous Primrose sobbing loud;
Nightshade, soon glided out of sight,
Frowning like some black rolling cloud.
32
Took up the harp his foe had flung,
On the bright floor, he swept the string,
While Moonbeam trembled as he sung.
OBERON'S SONG.
“By nature's darkest, sternest powers,By earth, and sea, and fiery showers,
By black destruction's deadly potion,
Drank when the lake of hell's in motion,
Drawn from the poisonous adder's tongue,
Mix'd with the hemlock's juice, among
The bitter roots of maiden hair,
Which haunted towers profusely bear,
And upas of foul deadly smell,
Whose roots shoot thro' the depths of hell,
And sea-weeds from the nauseous wave,
And nettles from the dead man's grave,
And docks that spring round gibbet posts,
Trod by the feet of shrieking ghosts,
And snake-weed from the shady wood,
And nightshade with its jetty hood,
And sable cypress, wrapt in gloom,
And yew, that guardian of the tomb;
By this strong draught, I drink and swear,
No power in heaven or earth I fear.”
33
From Canto VII.
THE INCANTATION.
Haste light-footed fairies, and mix ye a spell,
That the power of Moonbeam this night we may quell;
No matter how horrid, how grim it may be,
Speed—speed—or no longer immortals are we.
Search the cave, and the mountain, the lake, and the swamp,
The valley, the desert, and charnel house damp,
Glens, cities, and dark woods, where murder'd men shriek,
Search the ocean, the church-yard, and tall mountain peak.
Blow up the flames of crackling blue,
Nor shrink at their infernal hue;
For nine times round the cauldron we,
Must 'ere day dawn, dance merrily.
Three times nine, and nine times three,
Beneath the moonless sky dance we.
That the power of Moonbeam this night we may quell;
No matter how horrid, how grim it may be,
Speed—speed—or no longer immortals are we.
Search the cave, and the mountain, the lake, and the swamp,
The valley, the desert, and charnel house damp,
Glens, cities, and dark woods, where murder'd men shriek,
Search the ocean, the church-yard, and tall mountain peak.
Blow up the flames of crackling blue,
Nor shrink at their infernal hue;
For nine times round the cauldron we,
Must 'ere day dawn, dance merrily.
Three times nine, and nine times three,
Beneath the moonless sky dance we.
Bring the lips of a dragon, that's parched with fire,
Which he breath'd, as he flew over mountain and spire;
Fetch the fat of a martyr, just burnt at the stake,
From the lips of a madman, the raging foam take;
Steal the bag from an adder, you know where it's hung,
Well stor'd with green poison, beneath his fork'd tongue;
Bring the tooth of a mammoth, from Venice's gulf,
And a skull freshly gnaw'd, from the cave of a wolf;
Bring the head of a cat, that's lain months in a river,
And tear from the breast of a vulture its liver;
Fetch a bloated black toad, with its bright jewell'd head
You'll find him deep hid in some huge granite bed,
Blow up the flames of crackling blue,
Nor shrink at their infernal hue;
For nine times round the cauldron we,
Must 'ere day dawn, dance merrily.
Three times nine, and nine times three,
Beneath the moonless sky dance we.
Which he breath'd, as he flew over mountain and spire;
Fetch the fat of a martyr, just burnt at the stake,
From the lips of a madman, the raging foam take;
Steal the bag from an adder, you know where it's hung,
Well stor'd with green poison, beneath his fork'd tongue;
Bring the tooth of a mammoth, from Venice's gulf,
And a skull freshly gnaw'd, from the cave of a wolf;
34
And tear from the breast of a vulture its liver;
Fetch a bloated black toad, with its bright jewell'd head
You'll find him deep hid in some huge granite bed,
Blow up the flames of crackling blue,
Nor shrink at their infernal hue;
For nine times round the cauldron we,
Must 'ere day dawn, dance merrily.
Three times nine, and nine times three,
Beneath the moonless sky dance we.
From a death dropping vault, bring the slime of a snail
And cut off the rattle-snake's blood chilling tail;
From a cannibal's mouth, bring his foe's roasted bone,
Nor heed his grim look, or the next victim's groan;
Bring the head of an infant, that quivers with life,
And the mother's hand stain'd with the blood dyed knife
Fetch a worm from the grave, that has gorg'd till it's full
At its banquet of brains, in a silver hair'd skull.
A tongue white with fever, tear from the hot head,
Where it loll'd out for drink, when the weary soul fled;
Bring the thigh of a dog, that's bak'd well in the sun,
'Tis a feast raven's seek, but a smell mortals shun.
Blow up the flames of crackling blue,
Nor shrink at their infernal hue;
For nine times round the cauldron we,
Must 'ere day dawn, dance merrily.
Three times nine, and nine times three,
Beneath the moonless sky dance we.
Fetch the glittering skin of a corse glutted eel,
That has made on the mud buried sailor a meal;
From a gibbet, the arms of a murderer bring,
But hark! unmolested, let all the rest swing;
Bring the mould, which an orphan tears up with loud cries,
From the grave of its mother, who silently lies;
Tear the wing from a bat, and fairies take pains,
To find one that has revell'd 'mid mortal remains;
Dig from the church yard, some newly marked sod,
Which the foot of a pale ghost hath in the night trod;
From the mark of a mortal 'tis easily known,
For when touch'd, the dead start in their coffins and moan.
Blow up the flames of crackling blue,
Nor shrink at their infernal hue;
For nine times round the cauldron we,
Must 'ere day dawn, dance merrily.
Three times nine, and nine times three,
Beneath the moonless sky dance we.
And cut off the rattle-snake's blood chilling tail;
From a cannibal's mouth, bring his foe's roasted bone,
Nor heed his grim look, or the next victim's groan;
Bring the head of an infant, that quivers with life,
And the mother's hand stain'd with the blood dyed knife
Fetch a worm from the grave, that has gorg'd till it's full
At its banquet of brains, in a silver hair'd skull.
A tongue white with fever, tear from the hot head,
Where it loll'd out for drink, when the weary soul fled;
Bring the thigh of a dog, that's bak'd well in the sun,
'Tis a feast raven's seek, but a smell mortals shun.
Blow up the flames of crackling blue,
Nor shrink at their infernal hue;
For nine times round the cauldron we,
Must 'ere day dawn, dance merrily.
Three times nine, and nine times three,
Beneath the moonless sky dance we.
Fetch the glittering skin of a corse glutted eel,
That has made on the mud buried sailor a meal;
35
But hark! unmolested, let all the rest swing;
Bring the mould, which an orphan tears up with loud cries,
From the grave of its mother, who silently lies;
Tear the wing from a bat, and fairies take pains,
To find one that has revell'd 'mid mortal remains;
Dig from the church yard, some newly marked sod,
Which the foot of a pale ghost hath in the night trod;
From the mark of a mortal 'tis easily known,
For when touch'd, the dead start in their coffins and moan.
Blow up the flames of crackling blue,
Nor shrink at their infernal hue;
For nine times round the cauldron we,
Must 'ere day dawn, dance merrily.
Three times nine, and nine times three,
Beneath the moonless sky dance we.
Bring the heart of a father, just stab'd by his son,
With the blood trickling dagger which thro' it has run;
Bring a mother's cold breast, where a fair baby sips
The chill nipple of death, with its quivering lips;
From the monk, who has slumbered twice two hundred years
Bring his mouldering cross, and the dust of his ears;
Once more to his grave, then the spell is complete,
Fetch the white powdered bones of his time crumbled feet,
Blow up the flames of crackling blue,
Nor shrink at their infernal hue;
For nine times round the cauldron we,
Must 'ere day dawn, dance merrily.
Three times nine, and nine times three,
Beneath the moonless sky dance we.
With the blood trickling dagger which thro' it has run;
Bring a mother's cold breast, where a fair baby sips
The chill nipple of death, with its quivering lips;
From the monk, who has slumbered twice two hundred years
Bring his mouldering cross, and the dust of his ears;
Once more to his grave, then the spell is complete,
Fetch the white powdered bones of his time crumbled feet,
Blow up the flames of crackling blue,
Nor shrink at their infernal hue;
For nine times round the cauldron we,
Must 'ere day dawn, dance merrily.
Three times nine, and nine times three,
Beneath the moonless sky dance we.
36
From Canto VIII.
SONG OF TITANIA.
Take the dew lighting star beam, that gleams on the rose,
And the night breathing zephyr, when softest it blows,
Take the light of the moon, when she sleeps in a lake,
From the red blazing comet its fire tail take;
Then shalt thou be,
Immortal like me.
And the night breathing zephyr, when softest it blows,
Take the light of the moon, when she sleeps in a lake,
From the red blazing comet its fire tail take;
Then shalt thou be,
Immortal like me.
Take a tint from the rainbow, a fleece from the cloud,
A ball from the thunder, when bellowing loud,
Seize the blue flashing lightning, when first 'tis awake,
From the white falling snow flake its purity take;
Then shalt thou be,
Immortal like me.
A ball from the thunder, when bellowing loud,
Seize the blue flashing lightning, when first 'tis awake,
From the white falling snow flake its purity take;
Then shalt thou be,
Immortal like me.
Take the foam of the ocean, that washes the sky,
And a leaf from the campac, which never can die,
Take a ray from the sunbeam, when first the clouds break
From the gold budding amaranth its bright blossoms take
Then shalt thou be,
Immortal like me.
And a leaf from the campac, which never can die,
Take a ray from the sunbeam, when first the clouds break
From the gold budding amaranth its bright blossoms take
Then shalt thou be,
Immortal like me.
Take the pale hue of twilight, when leaving the west,
And a plume from the sun-eagle's cloud rending breast,
When his nest in the car of Apollo he makes,
And the gold from his broad wings majestic'ly shakes;
Then shalt thou be,
Immortal like me.
And a plume from the sun-eagle's cloud rending breast,
When his nest in the car of Apollo he makes,
And the gold from his broad wings majestic'ly shakes;
Then shalt thou be,
Immortal like me.
37
Take a flame from the deepest volcano's lit bed,
And a sigh from the earthquake, 'ere cities have fled,
Take the mad rolling wind, when the crested waves shake,
And the broad darkling shadows, which sleep in the lake;
Then shalt thou be,
Immortal like me.
And a sigh from the earthquake, 'ere cities have fled,
Take the mad rolling wind, when the crested waves shake,
And the broad darkling shadows, which sleep in the lake;
Then shalt thou be,
Immortal like me.
Take the lark's sweetest echo, that rests on a cloud,
Or sleeps on the edge of a sun-rolling shroud,
Take the enamell'd green from the sleek bosom'd snake,
From the harp of an angel its softest tones take;
Then shalt thou be,
Immortal like me.
Or sleeps on the edge of a sun-rolling shroud,
Take the enamell'd green from the sleek bosom'd snake,
From the harp of an angel its softest tones take;
Then shalt thou be,
Immortal like me.
| Songs of the Sea Nymphs | |