University of Virginia Library


199

Rocky Bay of the Ægean sea.—The Moon staying in the Zenith.
Sirens, Nereids and Tritons.
Sirens
(Lying on the cliffs around, piping and singing).
In the old time, while Night shuddering heard their daring rites malign,
Thee Thessalian sorceresses tore from that calm throne of thine.
We, with no unholy magic would disturb thy rest divine.
Rest thee pure in thine own heaven, and from the bow of thine own night
Look upon the glimmering waters, how they heave and roll in light.
Oh! gleam softly on the pageant that ascends in noiseless motion,
Through the phantom stars up-thronging, to the surface of the ocean.
Lovely Luna, oh! smile on us—on thy worshippers' devotion.

Nereids and Tritons.
Sing aloud, in tones more thrilling!
Sounds that, through the deep sea shrilling,

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All its peoples may awaken!
We had sunk to lone recesses,
Under gulfs by tempest shaken—
Caves in Ocean's wildernesses!
From the low depths far away
Now uprise we, and obey
And follow the alluring lay!
We to deck ourselves delight.
See these golden bracelets bright;
Crown, and clasp, and precious stone;
Chain, and brooch, and jewelled zone!
Treasures—the rich spoils that were
Of the shipwrecked mariner
On your fierce rocks flung away—
Your sweet songs have charmed them hither;
You! the demons of our bay.

Sirens.
We know, that in the moist sea-waves,
We know, that in the cool sea-caves
Calm live the people of the sea.
A happy, peaceful dream is theirs
Of gliding life. No griefs—no cares.
And such your life, and such are ye.
But, on this day of Festival,
Delight it were to us—to all—
To see you in the glorious hour
Wake into life of higher power.


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Nereids and Tritons.
Ere your song had hither brought us,
We had long ago bethought us
Of all this: and sisters, brothers,
In a moment off fleet we
To return, as proud as others
Of the ocean-family;
Sea-shapes though we be, our claim
Is, as you full soon shall see,
To a higher rank and name.
'Tis but over some small space
Of the moonlight sea to race.
We shall show you what we be.

[Exeunt.
Sirens.
They are off to Samothrace,
With a favouring wind; but what can they find
In the realms of the Cabiri?
Gods that baffle all enquiry?
Gods, that high up on the shelves
Of the rough rocks plant themselves.
We can make nothing of their constitution—
Unconscious, self-involved self-evolution.
Oh, move not from thy height,
Fair Luna! The soft rays
Shed round us of thy haze,
And far away be Day's
Intrusive world of light.