  The drowsy waves are lulled to rest, Are lulled to rest on ocean's breast; On ocean's breast that gently swells Like Moore's delightful "Evening Bells." Those bells that with bewitching chime Go pealing down the vale of time; On echo's wing they swiftly spring, And then athwart the world they ring. Oh, dainty zephyr sweep the deep And bid the languid pulses leap; Oh, sweep the deep with fragrant sighs, In sweet communion with the skies. From favored regions far beyond, We catch a glimmer of thy wand; Thy magic wand whose happy charm Shall every foe of love disarm. So what care we for idle fear, For idle fear when thou art near; When thou art near to waft along The kindred graces—joy and song. Oh, dainty zephyr, sweep the deep Where dimpled muses softly sleep; Asleep in ocean's arms they lie, Like autumn in the tranquil sky. Fulfil the soul's supreme desire, To liquid notes the harp inspire; To music sweet as wood and lake When fair Aurora cries "Awake!" Ay, dainty zephyr, fan the sea And bid yon schooner dance with glee; Yon schooner dance with glee, to breast The billows in their vague unrest. Come, O spirit of the breeze, I hear a whisper in the trees; A whisper in the trees, and now I feel fair fingers on my brow. The harp to sweeter pitch is strung, To sweeter pitch the chords are rung Till liquid sweetness stirs the air, As if an angel floated there. Floated there in bliss divine, In bliss too holy to define; In bliss so high I sigh, I faint, |
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