 | Syren songs |  |
87
IV. THE LURING-ON.
When westering winds the ocean soothe,
Till calm as heaven's blue waste it be,
How sweet to glide from smooth to smooth,
Like halcyons o'er the violet sea!
Till calm as heaven's blue waste it be,
How sweet to glide from smooth to smooth,
Like halcyons o'er the violet sea!
How brave to tread the glistening sands
That lie in amber wreaths below,
The twisted toil of faëry hands,
Condemned to swarth them to and fro!
That lie in amber wreaths below,
The twisted toil of faëry hands,
Condemned to swarth them to and fro!
88
My bright harp with its golden tongue
Speaks sweetly through the lucid wave,
And says its chords need scarce be rung,
While floods so soft its bosom lave!
Speaks sweetly through the lucid wave,
And says its chords need scarce be rung,
While floods so soft its bosom lave!
Broad-handed Ocean aye will beat
In varying mood this harp of mine,—
So think not, if it sound less sweet,
The fearful melody is mine.
In varying mood this harp of mine,—
So think not, if it sound less sweet,
The fearful melody is mine.
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