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The gold and the crimson, spread on the west, Brighten her crystal hall. The sands of amber breathe perfume, Gemm'd with pearls like tears of snow, Around in wreaths the white sea-flowers bloom, The waves in music flow. Child of the lyre! is not this a spot That would suit a minstrel well? Then haste thee and share the sea-maid's lot, Her love and her spar-built cell.

scarcely heard the strain, Her song was lost, her smile was vain, He had a charm all charms above, To guard his heart—the charm of love. He floated on. The morning came, With lip of dew and cheek of flame;