That slumbered, mirrored in the blue,

And ports that over well we knew.

That sought the secret of the west;

Towards the Islands of the Blest.

We saw the Sirens, very fair

The flowers set upon their hair.

Remembered music waxing strong,

No need had we of Orphic song.

To lay our lives down at their feet,

And dying see their faces sweet;

No care had we to tarry long;

Were more than any Siren's song.

 CIRCE'S ISLE REVISITED. Ah, Circe, Circe! in the wood we cried; Ah, Circe, Circe! but no voice replied; No voice from bowers o'ergrown and ruinous As fallen rocks upon the mountain side. There was no sound of singing in the air; Faded or fled the maidens that were fair, No more for sorrow or joy were seen of us, No light of laughing eyes, or floating hair. The perfume, and the music, and the flame Had passed away; the memory of shame Alone abode, and stings of faint desire, And pulses of vague quiet went and came. Ah, Circe! in thy sad changed fairy place, Our dead Youth came and looked on us a space, With drooping wings, and eyes of faded fire, And wasted hair about a weary face. Why had we ever sought the magic isle That seemed so happy in the days erewhile? Why did we ever leave it, where we met A world of happy wonders in one smile? Back to the westward and the waning light We turned, we fled; the solitude of night Was better than the infinite regret, In fallen places of our dead delight. 

No voice from bowers o'ergrown and ruinous

No more for sorrow or joy were seen of us,

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