THE EGYPTIAN MAID;

OR,

THE ROMANCE OF THE WATER LILY.

[For the names and persons in the following poem, see the

66

History of the renowned Prince Arthur and his Knights of the Round Table;" for the rest the Author is answerable; only it may be proper to add, that the Lotus, with the bust of the goddess appearing to rise out of the full-blown flower, was suggested by the beautiful work of ancient art, once included among the Townley Marbles, and now in the British Museum.]

THE EGYPTIAN MAID;

OR,

THE ROMANCE OF THE WATER LILY.

WHILE Merlin paced the Cornish sands,
Forth-looking toward the Rocks of Scilly,
The pleased Enchanter was aware

Of a bright Ship that seemed to hang in air,
Yet was she work of mortal hands,

And took from men her name-THE WATEr Lily.

Soft was the wind, that landward blew ;

And, as the Moon, o'er some dark hill ascendant, Grows from a little edge of light

To a full orb, this Pinnace bright,

As nearer to the Coast she drew,

Appeared more glorious, with spread sail and pendant.

Upon this winged Shape so fair

Sage Merlin gazed with admiration :

Her lineaments, thought he, surpass

Aught that was ever shown in magic glass;

In patience built with subtle care;

Or, at a touch, set forth with wondrous trans

formation.

Now, though a Mechanist, whose skill

Shames the degenerate grasp of modern science,

Grave Merlin (and belike the more

For practising occult and perilous lore)

Was subject to a freakish will

That sapped good thoughts, or scared them with defiance.

Provoked to envious spleen, he cast

An altered look upon the advancing Stranger
Whom he had hailed with joy, and cried,
"My Art shall help to tame her pride-"
Anon the breeze became a blast,

And the waves rose, and sky portended danger.

With thrilling word, and potent sign

Traced on the beach, his work the Sorcerer urges;

The clouds in blacker clouds are lost,

Like spiteful Fiends that vanish, crossed

By Fiends of aspect more malign;

And the winds roused the Deep with fiercer scourges.

But worthy of the name she bore

Was this Sea-flower, this buoyant Galley;

Supreme in loveliness and grace

Of motion, whether in the embrace

Of trusty anchorage, or scudding o'er

The main flood roughened into hill and valley.

Behold, how wantonly she laves

Her sides, the Wizard's craft confounding;

Like something out of Ocean

sprung

To be for ever fresh and young,

Breasts the sea-flashes, and huge waves

Top-gallant high, rebounding and rebounding!

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