Swept from the arms of sea-bound Syracuse.
I know my evening vigil is in vain,
That never shall I hear that song again.
Some splendid sea-spell in the sailor’s soul,
Swelling his heart, and bursting all control,
Some white sea-spirit chanting from his mouth
Sang the strange colours of a distant south.
Music deep-drowned within the siren sea
Art thou beyond the call of ecstasy?
The “Song for the Morning of the Day of St John the Baptist” has little to do with ballad, so we may pass it by, as we may do the “Julian” fragment, one of the Gayferos group. “The Song of the Galley,” which Mr Kelly regards as “too dulcet,” seems to me poorly rendered: