152 The Spirits of the Winds. [Auo. 



Swift, simple, sweet! a fairy tone, 



Just caught, and wondered at, and flown ; 



Then on the soul returning high, 



In the full pomp of harmony ! 



They come ! I see the Spirits sweep, 



Like evening glories, o'er the deep 



But lovelier now upon the gale 



The nectared lip no longer pale ; 



No more the glance of beauty dim 



All changed ! their eyes in splendour swim ; 



Buds on their cheek the angel-rose ; 



The star upon their foreheads glows ; 



With arms, like floating snow- wreathes twined, 



The dance of extacy they wind. 



And now they touch the Heaven's blue verge, 



Now in the wave their pinions merge ; 



With melting voice, with lifted arm, 



Is wrought upon the wave the charm. 



'Tis done ! on earth and air are borne 



Four echos of the golden horn ; 



At once expanded all their wings, 



Each on the cloud its beauty flings, 



Then upward sweep, till mortal gaze 



Turns feeble from the circling blaze. 



'Tis Eve ! in streaks of azure dyed 

 Sinks on its bed the mighty tide. 

 Above, on grove and mountain- wall, 

 In softened pomp the lustres fall ; 

 And the soft valley shadows weave 

 The whole wild witchery of eve. 

 But with its sounds, come mingling sounds, 

 Not of that mountain's leafy bounds ; 

 The joyous shout, the dashing oar, 

 Swift wheeling by that marble shore, 

 A gallant bark, from prow to poop 

 Full freighted with a noble troop, 

 Is rushing in the sunset's glance; 

 Flash, as it bounds, the helm and lance ; 

 The banners' thick-embroidered fold 

 Sweeps o'er the surge a sheet of gold ; 

 The silken robe, the pearly braid, 

 The feefjle step by lovers staid ; 

 The silver voices on the air, 

 Tell Woman, lovely Woman, there. 



The flame had done its deed the wave 

 Had quenched the ruin in the grave ; 

 Ten thousand fathoms, wild and dark, 

 Had boomed above its burning spark ; 

 And ne'er to sun or gale again 

 From mast or prow should spread the vane. 

 But in the heart's despairing hour, 

 Echoed the talisman of power ; 

 And not of all that bright or brave, 

 Stemmed on its deck the ocean wave ; 

 No gallant wielder of the sword, 

 No being by his soul adored, 

 Shall leave the mortal eye to weep 

 The fury of the faithless deep. 

 So firm the gentle mandate binds, 

 Breathed by the Spirits of the Winds ! 



