'T WAS when the loitering eves of idle June
Like breezeless barks went slow and drowsy by,
And Vesper kindled, and the mellowing moon
Stood out distinct against the deep-blue sky,
And the sun's wake, though he had vanished quite,
Edged half the sultry heaven with orange light—

Then, as a prisoned bird that will not sing
Another song than erst the woodland taught,
Where once she roved with free unfearful wing,
So Melusina would not chant of aught
But the still rivers, and of what may be
Locked in the deep illimitable sea.

And so her songs were fair with fairest shapes
Of Nixes that in reedy rivers roam,
And those that haunt the billow-beaten capes,
Flinging white arms around the flashing foam,
And those that aim their music and their smiles
At seamen shallop-borne past purple isles.

She sang of the strange flowers that ever thrust
Their blooms up towards the heaven they ne'er behold,
And caves where pearls lie prodigal as dust,
And spars of veering violet and gold,
And constant shells that evermore retain
The moody music of the murmuring main.

The glowing woof of her bright songs portrayed
Great Neptune awful in the majesty
Of his vast amber palace, pearl-inlaid,
Domed with that mighty emerald, the sea;
Or shining on his kingdoms like a star,
As brine-born coursers snorted in his car.

Also she chanted of the faëry pride
Of Amphitrite rising on the sea,
When moonbeams kiss it, and the mounting tide
Wantons beneath the argent luxury.
On dolphins' backs the harping Nymphs are borne,
The Tritons swim, and blow upon the horn.

Nor did she shun to tell of those who kiss
The wandering corpse, and bear it to the caves
Lonely and deep, where tempest never is,
Nor any passion in the quiet waves;
But sweet low ripples stir with languid tone,
And with their voice the spirit blends her own:—

‘Sleep, chilly form, and evermore forget
If thou hadst any wife or children dear,
Or friendly cheek that haply may be wet,
Or eyelash silvered with a growing tear;
Soothed to a dumb unalterable rest,
With quiet folded round thee like a vest.

‘The savage wind that vexed thee with its strife,
The treacherous wave that rose and whelmed thy prow—
How gladly would they lay their troubled life
Adown, and rest them here, and be as thou!
Repose for years untold they roam to find,
And still are weary wave and weary wind.’

As one who with a buried lover's ghost
Walks, while the white moon wanders up the sky,
And in the shadowy kisses joys almost
As much as though the living Love were by,
Her yearning spirit did she half appease
With such vague dreams and dim remembrances.