Ah! Thou wert fairer than the early morn,
Thy dress all spangled with the dewy flowers--
A lynn soft woven in the wondrous hours
That hedged about thy dreams. But Lo! the horn
Of some far Triton from the sea up-borne
Across the bluey hills, and tinted showers
Faint limning scenes of Elfin grots and bowers,
Bound thee in thrall by misty strands forlorn.
Thou couldst not longer bide the sweet low calling
Of some sad sea-soul for his wand'ring nymph.
Thou couldst not yield to mortal love's enthralling
And Nerius calling in thy spirits coralled lymph.
O! if our hearts have sweeter balm than tears,
It is the call that kissed thy dreaming ears.