Page:Poetical Remains.pdf/275

—Was it illusion?—Yet again
Rises and falls th' enchanted strain,
    Mellow, and sweet, and faint,
As if some spirit's touch had given
The soul of sound to harp of Heaven
    To soothe a dying saint!
Is it the mermaid's distant shell,
    Warbling beneath the moonlight wave?
—Such witching tones might lure full well
    The seaman to his grave!
Sure from no mortal touch ye rise,
Wild, soft, aerial melodies!
—Is it the song of woodland-fay
    From sparry grot, or haunted bower?
Hark! floating on, the magic lay
    Draws near yon ivied tower!
Now nearer still, the listening ear
May catch sweet harp-notes, faint yet clear,
And accents low, as if in fear,
    Thus murmur, half-suppressed;