J’ai pour lest une orange,
Pour voile une aile d’ange,
Pour mousse un séraphin.”
Her exquisite voice, sounding like crystal in the little room, seemed to Joyce as if it came from the dainty boat. Her sweet face seemed to peep forth under the angel’s wing, mocking the seraphic cabin-boy.
The setting was as perfect as her rendering. All the joy and inconsequence of life rang from her lips. She came to the last verse.
"Dites, la jeune belle,
Où voulez-vous aller?
La voile ouvre son aile,
La brise va souffler!
—Menez-moi, dit la belle,