Though gentle that smile, as the moonlight above,
O’Sullivan felt ’twas the dawning of love,
And hope came on hope, spreading over his mind,
Like the eddy of circles her wake left behind.
The lord of Dunkerron he plunged in the waves,
And sought through the fierce rush of waters, their caves;
The gloom of whose depth studded over with spars,
Had the glitter of midnight when lit up by stars.
Who can tell or can fancy the treasures that sleep,
Entombed in the wonderful womb of the deep?
The pearls and the gems, as if valueless, thrown
To lie ‘mid the sea-wrack concealed and unknown.
Down, down went the maid,—still the chieftain pursued;
Who flies must be followed ere she can be wooed.
Untempted by treasures, unawed by alarms,
The maiden at length he has clasped in his arms!
They rose from the deep by a smooth-spreading strand,
Whence beauty and verdure stretch’d over the land.
’Twas an isle of enchantment! and lightly the breeze,
With a musical murmur, just crept through the trees.
The haze-woven shroud of that newly born isle,
Softly faded away, from a magical pile,
A palace of crystal, whose bright-beaming sheen
Had the tints of the rainbow—red, yellow, and green.
And grottoes, fantastic in hue and in form,
Were there, as flung up—the wild sport of the storm;
Yet all was so cloudless, so lovely, and calm,
It seemed but a region of sunshine and balm.
“Here, here shall we dwell in a dream of delight,
Where the glories of earth and of ocean unite!
Yet, loved son of earth! I must from thee away;
There are laws which e’en spirits are bound to obey!
“Once more must I visit the chief of my race,
His sanction to gain ere I meet thy embrace.
In a moment I dive to the chambers beneath:
One cause can detain me—one only—’tis death!”
They parted in sorrow, with vows true and fond;
The language of promise had nothing beyond.
His soul all on fire, with anxiety burns:
The moment is gone—but no maiden returns.