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25 Literary Gazette, 13th March, 1824, Pages 170-171

ORIGINAL POETRY. METRICAL TALES. Tale III.—THE SISTERS.

Now, Maiden, wilt thou come with me, Far over yonder moonlight sea? There's not a cloud upon the sky, The wind is low like thine own sigh; The azure heaven is veined with light, The water is as calm and bright As I have sometimes seen it lie Beneath a sunny Indian sky. My bark is on the ocean riding, Like a spirit o'er it gliding: Maiden, wilt thou come—and be Queen of my fair ship and me? She followed him. The sweet night breeze Brought odours from the orange trees,— She paused not for that fragrancy: There came a sound of music nigh, A voice of song, a distant chime To mark the vespers' starry time,— She heard it not: the moonbeams fell O'er vine-wreathed hill and olive dell,