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ATLANTIS.
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XXVI.Rolled over all the devastating floods: No more shall lovers haunt the babbling rills;No more shall Summer dress her golden buds, Or wind her misty wreaths among the hills; No more shall breezy night be sweet with trills,In light, delicious, music-morsels tossed: But still the sea-born kings recount their ills,Nor evermore their mournful theme exhaust,Of all thine ancient worth, thou island loved and lost!
XXVII.By torrid shores they breathe their constant plea— "Arise, O thou of majesty serene!Break from the prison-chambers of the sea, Come forth in all thy jeweled garments green!" And where, full far, the arctic ships careen,Through ice-wrought caves their wailing sorrows swell: "Where are thy templed hills, O fallen queen?Arise, Atlantis, thou who didst excel!"Light winds their voices waste:—proud isle of Eld, farewell.
