Though the glowing bands we form,
    Oft by redder lips be pressed,
  And a slumber, soft and warm,
    Fold us on a dove-like breast,—­
  Not to love, but love’s bestowing
  Gentle care and kiss are owing:—­
    Is the passion changed or cloyed,
  Doth the giver’s light grow less? 
  Banished from the sweet recess,
  Sportive pressure, fond caress,
    See our mimic worth destroyed!

  Then in close and narrow keep,
    Pent, with scorned and faded toys,
  Mourn we for the glassy deep,
    Sigh we for our early joys! 
  What has earth like ocean’s treasures? 
  More than craving avarice measures,
    More than Fancy’s dream enchants,
  Deck the booming caves below,
  Where green waters ever flow
  Under groves of pearl, that grow
    In the mermaid’s glimmering haunts.

  Under spar-enchased bowers,
    Bending on their twisted stems,
  Glow the myriad ocean-flowers,
    Fadeless—­rich as orient gems. 
  Hung with seaweed’s tasselled fringes,
  Dyed with all the rainbow’s tinges,
    Rise the Triton’s palace walls. 
  Pallid silver’s wandering veins
  Stream, like frostwork, o’er the stains;
  Pavements thick, with golden grains,
    Twinkle through their crystal halls.

  And a music wild and low
    Ever, o’er the curved shells,
  Wanders with a fitful flow
    As the billow sinks or swells. 
  Now, to faintest whispers hushing,
  Now, in louder cadence gushing,
    Wakens from their pleasant sleep
  All the tuneful Nereid-throng,
  Till their notes of wreathed song
  Float in magic streams along,
    Chanting joyaunce through the deep.

  Chance or change,—­the clouds of time—­
    Sorrow,—­winter storm, or blight,
  Comes not near our peaceful clime;
    Nor the strife of day with night. 
  Death, who walks the earth in riot,
  Stirs not our primeval quiet: 
    Scarce his distant rage we know
  From the dreary things of clay,
  Slain, alas! in ocean’s play,
  Whom the sea-maids shroud and lay
    In the silent caves below.

  Fond! to deem we count it pride
    Thus to deck the fair of earth! 
  We, whose beauty-peopled tide
    Gave the foam-born goddess birth! 
  Her, whose glory’s radiant fulness. 
  All too bright for mortal dulness,
    Sparkles in a lovelier star! 
  Are not Ocean’s shady places
  Rich in kindred forms and faces,
  Choral bands of sister-Graces
    Circling Amphitrite’s car?

  Toiling o’er the shallow page,
    Vainly pedants seek the lore
  Taught us by that prophet sage,
    Whom our azure Thetis bore. 
  Wiser Eld his solemn numbers,
  Listening, stole from Ocean’s slumbers,
    Signs of coming doom to learn. 
  Poor were all your labours reap,
  To the gifted seers that keep
  Mysteries of the ancient deep,
    Drawn from Nereus’ sacred urn.