It was the Great Alexander, 
Capped with a golden helm, 
Sate in the ages, in his floating ship, 
In a dead calm. 

Voices of sea-maids singing 
Wandered across the deep: 
The sailors labouring on their oars 
Rowed as in sleep. 

All the high pomp of Asia, 
Charmed by that siren lay, 
Out of their weary and dreaming minds 
Faded away. 

Like a bold boy sate their Captain, 
His glamour withered and gone, 
In the souls of his brooding mariners, 
While the song pined on. 

Time like a falling dew, 
Life like the scene of a dream 
Laid between slumber and slumber 
Only did seem. . . . 

O Alexander, then, 
In all us mortals too, 
Wax not so overbold 
On the wave dark-blue! 

Come the calm starry night, 
Who then will hear 
Aught save the singing 
Of the sea-maids clear?