199 . Oine

IN a land of many waters, by a sun-forsaken lea,

Oine, fairest of the Siren daughters, gave her heart to me;

And her voice was low and tender, and her tresses floated free,

But her eyes in magic splendour mocked the foaming-crested sea.

O how sweetly sang the siren in the surge beyond the bay,

Telling what the shrouded seas environ with their scented spray,

Telling of the foam that flies on winds that wanton all the day

Out beyond the far horizon, where the wan white horses play:

‘Come away, the night is sinking in the bosom of the deep,

And the dewy air that flowers are drinking in their quiet sleep

Breathes of Beauty unabating, eyes of love that glance and peep,

Lips of joy for thee awaiting, where the dim day-shadows sweep.

‘Come away, the moon is falling from the course that she has run,

And the cheerless birds of night are calling to the morning sun;

Come, for night is nearly over, stars are fading one by one,

Yearn’st thou, restless-hearted rover? Come away, the night is done.’

‘All thy life is weary day-time, all thy soul is full of pain,

Never, never comes the golden may-time to thy heart again.’

(Stole her voice upon my dreaming, like the sound of summer rain,

Like the jewelled tides a-streaming onward to the silver main.)

Fairest of the Siren-daughters, siren voice of Poesy,

From the lonely land of many waters I will follow thee:

For my weary soul is yearning, and my spirit longs to be

Like the sun and stars returning, like the winds and waters—free.