- - - He laid him on the deck to sleep,
And pleasant was his rest, and deep;
He heard familiar voices speak,
He felt his love's breath on his cheek;
He looked upon his own blue skies,
He saw his native temples rise:
Even in dreams he wept to see
What he had loved so tenderly.
The Sailors looked within the hold,
And envied him his shining gold:
They waked him, bade him mark the wave,
And said 'twas for Arion's grave!
He watched each dark face that appeared,
And saw each heart with gold was seared,
Then roused his spirit's energy,
And stood prepared in pride to die!
He cast one look upon his lyre—
He felt his heart and hand on fire,
And prayed the slaves to let him pour
His spirit in its song once more!
He sung,—the notes at first were low,
Like the whispers of love, or the breathings of woe:
The waters were hushed, and the winds were stay'd,
As he sang his farewell to his Lesbian maid!
