Part 2 — ARIEL’S SONG.

I’ll quarry the sapphire sunset For blocks of purple air, And over the floor of ocean I’ll build me a palace rare; The South wind through its chambers By day and night shall blow, Fanning my brow with odors, With lovesick whispers low. Eolian lutes shall murmur Their breezy notes to me, And amber-tressed merwomen My servitors shall be; By showery sunbeams paven With tessellated light, My ivory floors shall glitter A marvel to the sight. And when my lids are heavy, With slumber’s dews oppressed, A pale-lipped shell shall circle My limbs reclined in rest; The pillars of my mansion Full proudly shall aspire, Their corbels wrought and woven Of opalescent fire. My torches shall be kindled At wells of Naptha fine, And myrrhine urns shall bubble With draughts of Elfin wine; Those gardens, which the daughters Of Hesper sow and till, With golden-rinded melons My fragrant board shall fill. The vaunted barge of Cydnus My shallop shall outvie, With silken cables furnished, With sails of purple dye; Its deck in halcyon weather Shall bear me o’er the main— Its argent beak shall follow Apollo’s sinking wain.