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With notes akin to one of his lost chimes,

Reminding him of his neglected quest;

He rose as if by a new zeal possest,

As when a mountaineer, who upward climbs,

Is fascinated by the vision’s power.

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That night he had a dream, in which he heard

The music of his bells across the seas,

Whose notes came clearly from a purple haze,

And wandered with the breeze from place to place,

A-dancing with the billows’ wild caprice,

And mingled with the cries of many a bird.

And floated round a many-colored sail,

Half-hoisted, flapping, listening between,

And eager to depart for that fair land,

Whence came the music, on whose purple strand

The ocean shifted from the dazzling sheen,

To emerald and amethystine pale.

And in the stern the smiling Stella stood,

A-beckoning to come with her away,

And he did hasten to the rocky shore,

But as he reached it, she was there no more,

The ship had carried her far out the bay,

And in its wake the waves were red as blood.

Then did he weep, until a gentle hand