Deep in thy ruby-colour'd cave,
Hear, Nereid of the sacred main,
And, from the Ocean's stormy wave,
To these fair fields return again!
Blows there among thy emerald bowers,
A gale like this, that fluttering still,
Attendant on the month of flowers,
Breathes on this green and sunny hill.

What tho' along thy foamy verge,
The Halcyon skims her downy breast;
And, cradled on the murmuring surge,
The west-wind rocks her sea-weed nest.
Thou hear'st not in thy crystal cell
The morning anthem of the year;
The music of thy spiral shell,
The wild waves deafen, sobbing drear!

O to these bowers, the bowers of Spring,
The shades of Nature, holy gloom!
While Heaven's soft dews at twilight fling,
On grass and flower their living bloom,
Climena, from thy pearly caves,
Return and hail the Sun of day,
Nor for the roar of tossing waves,
Resign the music of the May.