Edward Bulwer-Lytton: The Last Days of Pompeii

BOOK THE THIRD 2. Chapter II (continued)

         Behold! how she kneels in the shell,
          Bright pearl in its floating cell!
          Behold! how the shell's rose-hues,
             The cheek and the breast of snow,
          And the delicate limbs suffuse,
             Like a blush, with a bashful glow.
          Sailing on, slowly sailing
             O'er the wild water;
          All hail! as the fond light is hailing
             Her daughter,
                   All hail!
          We are thine, all thine evermore:
          Not a leaf on the laughing shore,
          Not a wave on the heaving sea,
             Nor a single sigh
             In the boundless sky,
          But is vow'd evermore to thee!

                   III

         And thou, my beloved one--thou
, As I gaze on thy soft eyes now,
          Methinks from their depths I view
          The Holy Birth born anew;
          Thy lids are the gentle cell
             Where the young Love blushing lies;
          See! she breaks from the mystic shell,
             She comes from thy tender eyes!
                Hail! all hail!
          She comes, as she came from the sea,
          To my soul as it looks on thee;
             She comes, she comes!
          She comes, as she came from the sea,
          To my soul as it looks on thee!
                Hail! all hail!