Up with the sparkling brimmer,

  Up to the crystal rim;

Let not a moonbeam glimmer

  'Twixt the flood and brim.

When hath the world set eyes on

  Aught to match this light,

Which o'er our cup's horizon

  Dawns in bumpers bright?

Truth in a deep well lieth—

  So the wise aver;

But Truth the fact denieth—

  Water suits not her.

No, her abode's in brimmers,

  Like this mighty cup—

Waiting till we, good swimmers,

  Dive to bring her up.

* * * * *

Thus circled round the song of glee,

  And all was tuneful mirth the while,

  Save on the cheeks of some whose smile

As fixt they gaze upon the sea,

Turns into paleness suddenly!

What see they there? a bright blue light

  That like a meteor gliding o'er

The distant wave grows on the sight,

As tho' 'twere winged to Zea's shore.

To some, 'mong those who came to gaze,

  It seemed the night-light far away

Of some lone fisher by the blaze

  Of pine torch luring on his prey;

While others, as 'twixt awe and mirth

  They breathed the blest Panaya's[27] name,

Vowed that such light was not of earth

  But of that drear, ill-omen'd flame

Which mariners see on sail or mast

When Death is coming in the blast.

While marvelling thus they stood, a maid

  Who sate apart with downcast eye,

Not yet had like the rest surveyed

  That coming light which now was nigh,

Soon as it met her sight, with cry

  Of pain-like joy, "'Tis he! 'tis he!"

Loud she exclaimed, and hurrying by

  The assembled throng, rushed towards the sea.

At burst so wild, alarmed, amazed,

All stood like statues mute and gazed

Into each other's eyes to seek

What meant such mood in maid so meek?

Till now, the tale was known to few,

But now from lip to lip it flew:—

A youth, the flower of all the band,

  Who late had left this sunny shore,

When last he kist that maiden's hand,

  Lingering to kiss it o'er and o'er.

By his sad brow too plainly told

  The ill-omened thought which crost him then,

That once those hands should lose their hold,

  They ne'er would meet on earth again!

In vain his mistress sad as he,

But with a heart from Self as free

As generous woman's only is,

Veiled her own fears to banish his:—

With frank rebuke but still more vain,

  Did a rough warrior who stood by

Call to his mind this martial strain,

  His favorite once, ere Beauty's eye

  Had taught his soldier-heart to sigh:—