68
Poems.
Yet the palace court is all so still,Tho' the lights burn bright in the palace hall,And now the guests the tables fill,The strains grow sweeter and seem to call,"Come to the revel one and all,Th' sheen on the fruit, the bead on the wineAnd beauty, music, and love are divine!"
The song it swells and grows more sweetAnd beautiful forms move in the dance;Those wildly waltzing, tiny feetN'er cease and soft the bright eyes glance.
The fisher boy bends nearer down,The strains grow wilder and wilder,Oh how the bacchantes throng and throng!One sweet face shining milderThan others, beckons to him,With laughing mouth o'er the waters dun"Grandmother thou hast not lied to me!"And he springs with gladness into the sea!
The morning dawns so cold and clear,The fishers go down to their nets by the sea,But what is that which stirs their fear?To them naught that's living can fearful be!Far off they see an empty boat,Near them a pallid corpse doth float,With strange wild eyes and streaming hair,'Tis the face of the fisher boy lying there!
