When evening shades are falling

  O'er Ocean's sunny sleep,

To pilgrims' hearts recalling

  Their home beyond the deep;

When rest o'er all descending

  The shores with gladness smile,

And lutes their echoes blending

  Are heard from isle to isle,

Then, Mary, Star of the Sea,

We pray, we pray, to thee!

The noon-day tempest over,

  Now Ocean toils no more,

And wings of halcyons hover

  Where all was strife before.

Oh thus may life in closing

  Its short tempestuous day

Beneath heaven's smile reposing

  Shine all its storms away:

Thus, Mary, Star of the Sea,

We pray, we pray, to thee!

On Helle's sea the light grew dim

As the last sounds of that sweet hymn

  Floated along its azure tide—

Floated in light as if the lay

Had mixt with sunset's fading ray

  And light and song together died.

So soft thro' evening's air had breathed

That choir of youthful voices wreathed

In many-linked harmony,

That boats then hurrying o'er the sea

Paused when they reached this fairy shore,

And lingered till the strain was o'er.

Of those young maids who've met to fleet

In song and dance this evening's hours,

Far happier now the bosoms beat

  Than when they last adorned these bowers;

For tidings of glad sound had come,

  At break of day from the far isles—

Tidings like breath of life to some—

That Zea's sons would soon wing home,

  Crowded with the light of Victory's smiles

To meet that brightest of all meeds

That wait on high, heroic deeds.

When gentle eyes that scarce for tears

  Could trace the warrior's parting track,

Shall like a misty morn that clears

When the long-absent sun appears

  Shine out all bliss to hail him back.

How fickle still the youthful breast!—

  More fond of change than a young moon,

No joy so new was e'er possest

  But Youth would leave for newer soon.

These Zean nymphs tho' bright the spot

  Where first they held their evening play

As ever fell to fairy's lot

  To wanton o'er by midnight's ray,

Had now exchanged that sheltered scene

  For a wide glade beside the sea—

A lawn whose soft expanse of green

  Turned to the west sun smilingly

As tho' in conscious beauty bright

It joyed to give him light for light.

And ne'er did evening more serene

Look down from heaven on lovelier scene.

Calm lay the flood around while fleet

  O'er the blue shining element

Light barks as if with fairy feet

  That stirred not the husht waters went;

Some, that ere rosy eve fell o'er

  The blushing wave, with mainsail free,

Had put forth from the Attic shore,

  Or the near Isle of Ebony;—

Some, Hydriot barks that deep in caves

  Beneath Colonna's pillared cliffs,

Had all day lurked and o'er the waves

  Now shot their long and dart-like skiffs.

Woe to the craft however fleet

These sea-hawks in their course shall meet,

Laden with juice of Lesbian vines,

Or rich from Naxos' emery mines;

For not more sure, when owlets flee

O'er the dark crags of Pendelee,

Doth the night-falcon mark his prey,

Or pounce on it more fleet than they.

And what a moon now lights the glade

  Where these young island nymphs are met!

Full-orbed yet pure as if no shade

  Had touched its virgin lustre yet;

And freshly bright as if just made

By Love's own hands of new-born light

Stolen from his mother's star tonight.

  On a bold rock that o'er the flood

Jutted from that soft glade there stood

A Chapel, fronting towards the sea,—

Built in some by-gone century,—

Where nightly as the seaman's mark

When waves rose high or clouds were dark,

A lamp bequeathed by some kind Saint

Shed o'er the wave its glimmer faint.

Waking in way-worn men a sigh

And prayer to heaven as they went by.

'Twas there, around that rock-built shrine

  A group of maidens and their sires

Had stood to watch the day's decline,

  And as the light fell o'er their lyres

Sung to the Queen-Star of the Sea

That soft and holy melody.

But lighter thoughts and lighter song

Now woo the coming hours along.

For mark, where smooth the herbage lies,

  Yon gay pavilion curtained deep

With silken folds thro' which bright eyes

  From time to time are seen to peep;

While twinkling lights that to and fro

Beneath those veils like meteors go,

  Tell of some spells at work and keep

Young fancies chained in mute suspense,

Watching what next may shine from thence,

Nor long the pause ere hands unseen

  That mystic curtain backward drew,

And all that late but shone between

  In half-caught gleams now burst to view.

A picture 'twas of the early days

Of glorious Greece ere yet those rays

Of rich, immortal Mind were hers

That made mankind her worshippers;

While yet unsung her landscapes shone

With glory lent by heaven alone;

Nor temples crowned her nameless hills,

Nor Muse immortalized her rills;

Nor aught but the mute poesy

Of sun and stars and shining sea

Illumed that land of bards to be.

While prescient of the gifted race

  That yet would realm so blest adorn,

Nature took pains to deck the place

  Where glorious Art was to be born.

Such was the scene that mimic stage

  Of Athens and her hills portrayed

Athens in her first, youthful age,

  Ere yet the simple violet braid,[18]

Which then adorned her had shone down

The glory of earth's loftiest crown.

While yet undreamed, her seeds of Art

  Lay sleeping in the marble mine—

Sleeping till Genius bade them start

  To all but life in shapes divine;

Till deified the quarry shone

And all Olympus stood in stone!

There in the foreground of that scene,

On a soft bank of living green

Sate a young nymph with her lap full

  Of the newly gathered flowers, o'er which

She graceful leaned intent to cull

  All that was there of hue most rich,

To form a wreath such as the eye

Of her young lover who stood by,

With pallet mingled fresh might choose

To fix by Painting's rainbow hues.

The wreath was formed; the maiden raised

  Her speaking eyes to his, while he—

Oh not upon the flowers now gazed,

  But on that bright look's witchery.

While, quick as if but then the thought

Like light had reached his soul, he caught

His pencil up and warm and true

As life itself that love-look drew:

And, as his raptured task went on,

And forth each kindling feature shone,

Sweet voices thro' the moonlight air

  From lips as moonlight fresh and pure

Thus hailed the bright dream passing there,

  And sung the Birth of Portraiture.[19]