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Cymbal and clarion, and voice, around, Make the air one stream of exulting sound, While the beautiful, with their sunny smiles, Look from each hall of the hundred isles.

But happiest and brightest that day of all, Robed for her warrior's festival, Moving a Queen 'midst the radiant throng, Was She, th' inspired one, the Maid of Song! The lute he loved on her arm she bore, As she rush'd in her joy to the crowded shore; With a hue on her cheek like the damask glow By the sunset given unto mountain snow, And her eye all fill'd with the spirit's play, Like the flash of a gem to the changeful day, And her long hair waving in ringlets bright— So came that being of Hope and Light! —One moment, Erminia! one moment more, And life, all the beauty of life, is o'er! The bark of her lover hath touched the strand— Whom leads he forth with a gentle hand?