Sent from a Greek girl's dark eyelash
O'er a sky as blue as her own blue eyes,
Borne by winds as perfumed and light as her sighs.
The zenith Moon was shedding her light
In the silence and glory of deep midnight,
When the voice of singing was heard from afar,
Like the music that echoes a falling star;
And presently came gliding by
The Spirit of the melody:
A radiant shape, her long gold hair
Flew like a banner on the air,
Save one or two bright curls that fell
Like gems upon a neck whose swell
Rose like the dove's, when its mate's caress
Is smoothing the soft plumes in tenderness;
And one arm, white as the sea spray,
Amid the chords of music lay.
She swept the strings, and fixed the while
Her dark eye's wild luxuriant smile
Upon Arion; and her lip,
Like the first spring rose that the bee can sip,
Curled half in the pride of its loveliness,
And half with a love-sigh's voluptuousness.
There is a voice of music swells
In the ocean's coral groves;
Sweet is the harp in the pearly cells,
Where the step of the sea-maid roves.
The angry storm when it rolls above,
At war with the foaming wave,
Is soft and low as the voice of love,
Ere it reach her sparry cave.
When the Sun seeks his glorious rest,
And his beams o'er ocean fall,
The gold and the crimson, spread on the west,
Brighten her crystal hall.
The sands of amber breathe perfume,
Gemm'd with pearls like tears of snow,
Around in wreaths the white sea-flowers bloom,
The waves in music flow.
Child of the lyre! is not this a spot
That would suit a minstrel well?
Then haste thee and share the Sea-maid's lot,
Her love and her spar-built cell.
