The sea of song and story, the sea that knows no tide !
How softly o'er its waters yon argosy doth ride !
Her path by fair Trinacria, that queen of islands, lies,
"Where Ætna's smoke-wreathed forehead is lifted to the skies.
A breath, the mildest, steadiest of summer's welcome gales,
Hath smoothed the rugged billows, and gently fons her sails.
No foam her bows are shedding; as noiseless doth she pass
As ship in realm of Faery, that glides o'er waves of glass.
Yet one her deck is pacing that marks with many a sigh
The amethyst of ocean, the azure of the sky.
His spirit, faint with longing, would hold it better far
To meet the black-winged storm-cloud, to mount its thunder-