University of Virginia Library

These were his everlasting themes:
And these the echo of his dreams:
The neigh of steeds, the bugle cry
Of battle or of victory,
The roar of wind—and rush of water:
The blaze of heaven—cry of slaughter—
The thunders of the rolling deep
Whose monarchs rousing from their sleep,
Outstretch their sceptres o'er the wave
And call their spirits from the grave:—
When every billow starts to life,
Contending in the foamy strife—
For diadem of dripping green,
Entwined by Ocean's stormy queen.
These were for aye, his chosen themes;
But he would sing full oft, it seems,
With tendered touch, and tenderer note
Such airs as o'er the waters float—
When symphonies of evening rise
In whisper to the listening skies—
And swell and die so soft away—
We think some minstrel of the day
Is piping on its airy way:
Or some sweet songstress of the night
Waves musick from her wings in flight:
A lulling—faint—uncertain song—
That but to spirits can belong:
To happy spirits too—and none,
But those, who in the setting sun,
Expand their thin bright wings, and darting,
Spin musick to their god in parting:
Who has not heard these quiet airs
Come like the sigh of heaven, that bears
A soothing to his toiling cares?
As if some murmuring angel guest,
Within his void and echoing breast,
Were fanning all his thoughts to rest?
Who has not felt when sounds like these,
Like prayers of lovers on the breeze—
Came warm and fragrant by her cheek,
Oh, more than mortal e'er may speak!
As if unto her heart she'd caught
Some instrument, that to her thought
Gave answering melody and song,
In murmurings like an airy tongue:
And echoing in its insect din,
To every pulse and hope within,
Had set her thoughts to fairy numbers!
Or if she ne'er has fancied this,
This doubtful and bewildering bliss—
Has she not dropped the lingering tear,
And fancied that some one was near—
Invisible indeed, but dear—
The guardian of her evening slumbers!