ARIEL’S SONG.
I’ll quarry the sapphire sunset
For blocks of purple air,
And over the floor of ocean
I’ll build me a palace rare;
The South wind through its chambers
By day and night shall blow,
Fanning my brow with odors,
With lovesick whispers low.
Eolian lutes shall murmur
Their breezy notes to me,
And amber-tressed merwomen
My servitors shall be;
By showery sunbeams paven
With tessellated light,
My ivory floors shall glitter
A marvel to the sight.
And when my lids are heavy,
With slumber’s dews oppressed,
A pale-lipped shell shall circle
My limbs reclined in rest;
The pillars of my mansion
Full proudly shall aspire,
Their corbels wrought and woven
Of opalescent fire.
My torches shall be kindled
At wells of Naptha fine,
And myrrhine urns shall bubble
With draughts of Elfin wine;
Those gardens, which the daughters
Of Hesper sow and till,
With golden-rinded melons
My fragrant board shall fill.
The vaunted barge of Cydnus
My shallop shall outvie,
With silken cables furnished,
With sails of purple dye;
Its deck in halcyon weather
Shall bear me o’er the main—
Its argent beak shall follow
Apollo’s sinking wain.