There--Pearl of Beauty! lightly press, With yielding form, the yielding sand; And while you lift the rosy shells, Within your dear and dainty hand,
Or toss them to the heedless waves. That reck not how your treasures shine, As oft you waste on careless hearts Your fancies, touched with light divine,
I'll sing a lay--more wild than gay-- The story of a magic flute; And as I sing, the waves shall play An ordered tune, the song to suit.
In silence flowed our grand old Rhine; For on his breast a picture burned, The loveliest of all scenes that shine Where'er his glorious course has turned.
That radiant morn the peasants saw A wondrous vision rise in light, They gazed, with blended joy and awe-- A castle crowned the beetling height!
Far up amid the amber mist, That softly wreathes each mountain-spire, The sky its clustered columns kissed, And touched their snow with golden fire;
The vapor parts--against the skies, In delicate tracery on the blue, Those graceful turrets lightly rise, As if to music there they grew!
And issuing from its portal fair, A youth descends the dizzy steps; The sunrise gilds his waving hair, From rock to rock he lightly leaps--
He comes--the radiant, angel-boy! He moves with more than human grace; His eyes are filled with earnest joy, And Heaven is in his beauteous face.
And whether bred the stars among, Or in that luminous palace born, Around his airy footsteps hung The light of an immortal morn.
From steep to steep he fearless springs, And now he glides the throng amid. So light, as if still played the wings That 'neath his tunic sure are hid!
A fairy flute is in his hand-- He parts his bright, disordered hair, And smiles upon the wondering band, A strange, sweet smile, with tranquil air.
Anon, his blue, celestial eyes He bent upon a youthful maid, Whose looks met his in still surprise, The while a low, glad tune he played--
Her heart beat wildly--in her face The lovely rose-light went and came; She clasped her hands with timid grace, In mute appeal, in joy and shame!
Then slow he turned--more wildly breathed The pleading flute, and by the sound Through all the throng her steps she wreathed, As if a chain were o'er her wound.
All mute and still the group remained, And watched the charm, with lips apart, While in those linkéd notes enchained, The girl was led, with listening heart:--