Even his murderers paused and wept,
But looked on the gold and their purpose kept.
More proudly he swept the chords along,
'Twas the stirring burst of a battle song—
And with the last close of his martial strain
He plunged with his lyre in the deep blue main!
- - - The tempest has burst from its blackened dwelling,
The lightning is flashing, the waters are swelling
In mountains crested with foam and with froth,
And the wind has rushed like a giant forth;
The deck is all spray, the mast is shattered,
The sails, like the leaves in the autumn, are scattered;
The Mariner's pale with fear, for a grave
Is in the dark bosom of every wave.
The billows rushed—one fearful cry
Is heard of human agony!
Another swell—no trace is seen
Of what upon its breast has been! - - - -
But who is he, who o'er the sea
Rides like a god, triumphantly,
Upon a dolphin? All is calm
Around—the air he breathes is balm,
And quiet as beneath the sky
Of his own flowery Arcady;
And all grows peaceful, as he rides
His dolphin through the glassy tides;
And ever as he music drew
From his sweet harp, a brightening hue,
Like rainbow tints, a gentle bound,
Told how the creature loved the sound.
Arion, some god has watched over thee,
And saved thee alike from man and the sea.
The night came on, a summer night,
With snowy clouds and soft starlight;
And glancing meteors, like the flash
