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CXIII.

One stops his ears,–another close beholder
Whispers unto the next his grave surmise;
This crouches down,–and just above his shoulder,
A woman’s pity saddens in her eyes,
And prompts her to befriend that lonely grief,
With all sweet helps of sisterly relief.

CXIV.

And down the sunny beach she paces slowly,
With many doubtful pauses by the way;
Grief hath an influence so hush’d and holy,–
Making her twice attempt, ere she can lay
Her hand upon that sea-maid’s shoulder white,
Which makes her startle up in wild affright.

CXV.

And, like a seal, she leaps into the wave
That drowns the shrill remainder of her scream;
Anon the sea fills up the watery cave,
And seals her exit with a foamy seam,–
Leaving those baffled gazers on the beach,
Turning in uncouth wonder each to each.

CXVI.

Some watch, some call, some see her head emerge,
Wherever a brown weed falls through the foam;
Some point to white eruptions of the surge:–
But she is vanish’d to her shady home,
Under the deep, inscrutable,–and there
Weeps in a midnight made of her own hair.

CXVII.

Now here, the sighing winds, before unheard,
Forth from their cloudy caves begin to blow,
Till all the surface of the deep is stirr’d,
Like to the panting grief it hides below;
And heaven is cover’d with a stormy rack,
Soiling the waters with its inky black.

CXVIII.

The screaming fowl resigns her finny prey,
And labors shoreward with a bending wing,
Rowing against the wind her toilsome way;
Meanwhile, the curling billows chafe, and fling
Their dewy frost still further on the stones,
That answer to the wind with hollow groans.

CXIX.

And here and there a fisher’s far-off bark
Flies with the sun’s last glimpse upon its sail,
Like a bright flame amid the waters dark,
Watch’d with the hope and fear of maidens pale;
And anxious mothers that upturn their brows,
Freighting the gusty wind with frequent vows,

CXX.

For that the horrid deep has no sure path
To guide Love safe into his homely haven.
And lo! the storm grows blacker in its wrath,
O’er the dark billow brooding like a raven,
That bodes of death and widow’s sorrowing,
Under the dusky covert of his wing.

CXXI.

And so day ended. But no vesper spark
Hung forth its heavenly sign; but sheets of flame
Play’d round the savage features of the dark,
Making night horrible. That night, there came
A weeping maiden to high Sestos’ steep,
And tore her hair and gazed upon the deep.

CXXII.

And waved aloft her bright and ruddy torch,
Whose flame the boastful wind so rudely fann’d,
That oft it would recoil, and basely scorch
The tender covert of her sheltering hand;
Which yet, for Love’s dear sake, disdain’d retire,
And, like a glorying martyr, braved the fire.

CXXIII.

For that was love’s own sign and beacon guide
Across the Hellespont’s wide weary space,
Wherein he nightly struggled with the tide:–
Look what a red it forges on her face,
As if she blush’d at holding sucha light,
Ev’n in the unseen presence of the night!

CXXIV.

Whereas her tragic cheek is truly pale,
And colder than the rude and ruffian air
That howls into her ear a horrid tale
Of storm and wreck, and uttermost despair,
Saying, “Leander floats amid the surge,
And those are dismal waves that sing his dirge.”

CXXV.

And hark!–a grieving voice, trembling and faint,
Blends with the hollow sobbings of the sea;
Like the sad music of a siren’s plaint,
But shriller than Leander’s voice should be,
Unless the wintry death had changed its tone,–
Wherefore she thinks she hears his spirit moan.

CXXVI.

For now, upon each brief and breathless pause,
Made by the raging winds, it plainly calls
On “Hero! Hero!”–whereupon she draws
Close to the dizzy brink, that ne’er appals
Her brave and constant spirit to recoil,
However the wild billows toss and toil.

CXXVII.

“Oh! dost thou live under the deep deep sea?
I thought such love as thine could never die;
If thou hast gain’d an immortality
From the kind pitying sea-god, so will I;
And this false cruel tide that used to sever
Our hearts, shall be our common home forever!”

CXXVIII.

“There we will sit and sport upon one billow,
And sing our ocean ditties all the day,
And lie together on the same green pillow,
That curls above us with its dewy spray;
And ever in one presence live and dwell,
Like two twin pearls within the selfsame shell!”

CXXIX.

One moment then, upon the dizzy verge
She stands;–with face upturn’d against the sky;
A moment more, upon the foamy surge
She gazes, with a calm despairing eye;
Feeling that awful pause of blood and breath,
Which life endures when it confronts with death;–

CXXX.

Then from the giddy steep she madly springs,
Grasping her maiden robes, that vainly kept
Panting abroad, like unavailing wings,
To save her from her death.–The sea-maid wept
And in a crystal cave her corse enshrined;
No meaner sepulchre should Hero find!