And a murmur of happiness steals through But the white foam of waves shall thy windhis rest "O God! thou hast blest me-I ask for no more." ing-sheet be, And winds in the midnight of winter thy dirge! Ah! whence is that flame which now bursts On a bed of green sea-flowers thy limbs shall on his eye? Ah! what is that sound which now 'larms on his ear? be laid Around thy white bones the red coral shall grow; 'Tis the lightning's red gleam, painting hell Of thy fair yellow locks threads of amber be |