Behold Arion — on the stern he stands,
Pall'd in theatrical attire,
To the mute strings he moves th' enlivening hands,
Great in distress, and wakes the golden lyre:
While in a tender Orthian strain
He thus accosts the mistress of the main:
By the bright beams of Cynthia's eyes,
Thro' which your waves attracted rise,
And actuate the hoary deep;
By the secret coral cell,
Where Love, and Joy, and Neptune dwell,
And peaceful floods in silence sleep;
By the sea-flowers, that immerge
Their heads around the grotto's verge,
Dependent from the stooping stem;
By each roof-suspended drop,
That lightly lingers on the top,
And hesitates into a gem;
By thy kindred watery gods,
The lakes, the rivulets, founts and floods,
And all the Powers that live unseen
Underneath the liquid green;
Great Amphitrite (for thou canst bind
The storm, and regulate the wind)
Hence waft me, fair Goddess, oh waft me away,
Secure from the men, and the monsters of prey!