And when the summer seas were calm, And summer skies were smiling, And evening came, with clouds of gold, To gild the western wave; And gentle airs and dews of balm, The pensive mind beguiling, Should call the Ocean Swain to fold His sea-flocks in the cave, Unearthly music’s tenderest spell, With gentlest breezes blending And waters softly rippling near The prow’s light course along, Should flow from Triton’s winding shell, Through ocean’s depths ascending From where it charmed the Nereid’s ear, Her coral bowers among. IV How sweet, where eastern Nature smiles, With swift and mazy motion Before the odour-breathing breeze Of dewy morn to glide; Or ‘mid the thousand emerald isles That gem the southern ocean, Where fruits and flowers, from loveliest trees, O’erhang the slumbering tide: Or up some western stream to sail, To where its myriad fountains Roll down their everlasting rills From many a cloud-capped height, Till mingling in some nameless vale, ‘Mid forest-cinctured mountains, The river-cataract shakes the hills With vast and volumed might. V The poison-trees their leaves should shed, The yellow snake should perish, The beasts of blood should crouch and cower, Where’er that vessel past: All plagues of fens and vapours bred, That tropic fervours cherish, Should fly before its healing power, Like mists before the blast. Where’er its keel the strand imprest The young fruit’s ripening cluster, The bird’s free song, its touch should greet The opening flower’s perfume; The streams along the green earth’s breast Should roll in purer lustre, And love should heighten every sweet, And brighten every bloom. VI And, Freedom! thy meridian blaze Should chase the clouds that lower, Wherever mental twilight dim Obscures Truth’s vestal flame, Wherever Fraud and Slavery raise The throne of bloodstained Power, Wherever Fear and Ignorance hymn Some fabled daemon’s name! The bard, where torrents thunder down Beside thy burning altar, Should kindle, as in days of old, The mind’s ethereal fire; Ere yet beneath a tyrant’s frown The Muse’s voice could falter, Or Flattery strung with chords of gold The minstrel’s venal lyre.