CHIMERA II

A curse! a curse! the beautiful pale wing Of a sea-bird was worn with wandering, And, on a sunny rock beside the shore, It stood, the golden waters gazing o'er; And they were heaving a brown amber flow Of weeds, that glitter'd gloriously below. It was the sunset, and the gorgeous hall Of heaven rose up on pillars magical Of living silver, shafting the fair sky Between dark time and great eternity. They rose upon their pedestal of sun, A line of snowy columns! and anon Were lost in the rich tracery of cloud That hung along, magnificently proud, Predicting the pure star-light, that beyond The east was armouring in diamond About the camp of twilight, and was soon To marshal under the fair champion moon, That call'd her chariot of unearthly mist, Toward her citadel of amethyst. A curse! a curse! a lonely man is there By the deep waters, with a burden fair Clasp'd in his wearied arms—'Tis he; 'tis he The brain-struck Julio, and Agathè! His cowl is back—flung back upon the breeze, His lofty brow is haggard with disease, As if a wild libation had been pour'd Of lightning on those temples, and they shower'd A dismal perspiration, like a rain, Shook by the thunder and the hurricane! He dropt upon a rock, and by him placed, Over a bed of sea-pinks growing waste, The silent ladye, and he mutter'd wild, Strange words, about a mother, and no child. "And I shall wed thee, Agathè! although Ours be no God-blest bridal—even so!" And from the sand he took a silver shell, That had been wasted by the fall and swell Of many a moon-borne tide into a ring— A rude, rude ring; it was a snow-white thing, Where a lone hermit limpet slept and died, In ages far away. "Thou art a bride, Sweet Agathè! Wake up; we must not linger." He press'd the ring upon her chilly finger, And to the sea-bird, on its sunny stone, Shouted, "Pale priest! thou liest all alone Upon thy ocean altar, rise away To our glad bridal!" and its wings of gray All lazily it spread, and hover'd by With a wild shriek—a melancholy cry! Then swooping slowly o'er the heaving breast Of the blue ocean, vanish'd in the west. And Julio is chanting to his bride, A merry song of his wild heart, that died On the soft breeze through pinks beside the sea, All rustling in their beauty gladsomely.

A rosary of stars, love! we'll count them as we go Upon the laughing waters, that are wandering below, And we'll o'er the pearly moon-beam, as it lieth in the sea, In beauty and in glory, like a shadowing of thee! A rosary of stars, love! a prayer as we glide, And a whisper in the wind, and a murmur on the tide! And we'll say a fair adieu to the flowers that are seen, With shells of silver sown in radiancy between. A rosary of stars, love! the purest they shall be, Like spirits of pale pearls, in the bosom of the sea; Now help thee, virgin mother! with a blessing as we go, Upon the laughing waters, that are wandering below! He lifted the dead girl, and is away To where a light boat, in its moorings lay, Like a sea-cradle, rocking to the hush Of the nurse waters. With a frantic rush O'er the wild field of tangles he hath sped, And through the shoaling waves that fell and fled Upon the furrow'd beach. The snowy sail Is hoisted to the gladly gushing gale, That bosom'd its fair canvass with a breast Of silver, looking lovely to the west; And at the helm there sits the wither'd one, Gazing and gazing on the sister nun, With her fair tresses floating on his knee— The beautiful, death-stricken Agathè! Fast, fast, and far away, the bark hath stood Out toward the great heaving solitude, That gurgled in its deeps, as if the breath Went through its lungs, of agony and death! The sun is lost within the labyrinth Of clouds of purple and pale hyacinth, That are the frontlet of the sister Sky Kissing her brother Ocean; and they lie Bathing in blushes, till the rival queen Night, with her starry tiar, floateth in— A dark and dazzling beauty! that doth draw Over the light of love a shade of awe Most strange, that parts our wonder not the less Between her mystery and loveliness! And she is there, that is a pyramid Whereon the stars, the statues of the dead, Are imaged over the eternal hall, A group of radiances majestical! And Julio looks up, and there they be, And Agathè, and all the waste of Sea, That slept in wizard slumber, with a shroud Of night flung o'er his bosom, throbbing proud Amid its azure pulses; and again He dropt his blighted eye-orbs, with a strain Of mirth upon the ladye:—Agathè! Sweet bride! be thou a queen, and I will lay A crown of sea-weed on thy royal brow; And I will twine these tresses, that are now Floating beside me, to a diadem; And the sea foam will sprinkle gem on gem, And so will the soft dews. Be thou the queen Of the unpeopled waters, sadly seen By star-light, till the yet unrisen moon Issue, unveiled, from her anderoon, To bathe in the sea fountains: let me say, "Hail—hail to thee! thrice hail, my Agathè!" The warrior world was lifting to the bent Of his eternal brow magnificent, The fiery moon, that in her blazonry Shone eastward, like a shield. The throbbing sea Felt fever on his azure arteries, That shadow'd them with crimson, while the breeze Fell faster on the solitary sail. But the red moon grew loftier and pale, And the great ocean, like the holy hall, Where slept a seraph host maritimal, Was gorgeous, with wings of diamond Fann'd over it, and millions beyond Of tiny waves were playing to and fro, All musical, with an incessant flow Of cadences, innumerably heard Between the shrill notes of a hermit bird, That held a solemn paean to the moon. A few devotional fair clouds were soon Breathed o'er the living countenance of Heaven, And under the great galaxies were driven Of stars that group'd together, and they went Like voyagers along the firmament, And grew to silver in the blessed light Of the moon alchymist. It was not night, Not the dark deathly shadow, that falls o'er The eye-lid like a curse, but far before In splendour, struggling through a fall of gloom, In many a myriad gushes, that do come Direct from the eternal stars beyond, Like holy fountains pouring diamond! A sail! awake thee, Julio! a sail! And be not bending to thy trances pale. But he is gazing on the moonlit brow Of his dead Agathè, and fondly now, The light is silvering her bloodless face And the cold grave-clothes. There is loveliness As in a marble image, very bright! But stricken with a phantasy of light That is not given to the mortal hue, To life and breathing beauty: and she too Is more of the expressless lineament, Than of the golden thoughts that came and went Over her features like a living tide No while before. A sail is on the wide And moving waters, and it draweth nigh Like a sea-cloud. The elfin billows fly Before it, in their armories enthrall'd Of radiant and moon-breasted emerald; And many is the mariner that sees The lone boat in the melancholy breeze, Waving her snowy canvass, and anon Their stately vessel with a gallant run Crowds by in all her glory; but the cheer Of men is pass'd into a sudden fear, And whisperings, and shakings of the head— The moon was streaming on a virgin dead, And Julio sat over her insane, Like a sea demon! O'er and o'er again, Each cross'd him, as the stately vessel stood Far out into the murmuring solitude! But Julio saw not; he only heard A rushing, like the passing of a bird, And felt him heaving on the foam, that flew Along the startled billows; and he knew Of a strange sail, by broken oaths that fell Beside him, on the coming of the swell. They knew thou wert a queen, my royal bride! And made obeisance at thy holy side. They saw thee, Agathè! and go to bring Fair worshippers, and many a poet-king, To utter music at thy pearly feet.— Now, wake thee! for the moonlight cometh sweet, To visit in thy temple of the sea; Thy sister moon is watching over thee! And she is spreading a fair mantle of Pure silver, in thy lonely palace, love!— Now, wake thee! for the sea-bird is aloof, In solitude, below the starry roof; And on its dewy plume there is a light Of palest splendour, o'er the blessed night. Thy spirit, Agathè!—and yet, thou art Beside me, and my solitary heart Is throbbing near to thee: I must not feel The sweet notes of thy holy music steal Into my feverous and burning brain,— So wake not! and I'll hush thee with a strain Of my wild fancy, till thou dream of me, And I be loved as I have loved thee:—

'Tis light to love thee living, girl, when hope is full and fair, In the springtide of thy beauty, when there is no sorrow there— No sorrow on thy brow, and no shadow on thy heart! When, like a floating sea-bird, bright and beautiful thou art! 'Tis light to love thee living, girl—to see thee ever so, With health, that, like a crimson flower, lies blushing in the snow; And thy tresses falling over, like the amber on the pearl— Oh! true it is a lightsome thing, to love thee living, girl! But when the brow is blighted, like a star of morning tide, And faded is the crimson blush upon the cheek beside; It is to love, as seldom love, the brightest and the best, When our love lies like a dew upon the one that is at rest. Because of hopes, that, fallen, are changing to despair, And the heart is always dreaming on the ruin that is there, Oh, true! 'tis weary, weary, to be gazing over thee, And the light of thy pure vision breaketh never upon me! He lifts her in his arms, and o'er and o'er, Upon the brow of chilliness and hoar, Repeats a silent kiss;—along the side Of the lone bark, he leans that pallid bride, Until the waves do image her within Their bosom, like a spectre—'Tis a sin Too deadly to be shadow'd or forgiven, To do such mockery in the sight of Heaven! And bid her gaze into the startled sea, And say, "Thy image, from eternity, Hath come to meet thee, ladye!" and anon, He bade the cold corse kiss the shadowy one, That shook amid the waters, like the light Of borealis in a winter night! And after, he did strain her sea-wet hair Between his chilly fingers, with a stare Of mystery, that marvell'd how that she Had drench'd it so amid the moonlit sea. The morning rose, with breast of living gold, Like eastern phoenix, and his plumage roll'd In clouds of molted brilliance, very bright! And on the waste of waters floated light.— In truth, 'twas strange to see that merry bark Skimming the silver ocean, like a shark At play amid the beautiful sea-green, And all so sadly desolate within. And hours flew after hours, a weary length, Until the sunlight, in meridian strength, Threw burning floods upon the wasted brow Of that sea-hermit mariner; and now He felt the fire-light feed upon his brain, And started with intensity of pain, And wash'd him in the sea; it only brought Wild reason, like a demon, and he thought Strange thoughts, like dreaming men—he thought how those Were round him he had seen, and many rose His heart had hated; every billow threw Features before him, and pale faces grew Out of the sea by myriads:—the self-same Was moulded from its image, and they came In groups together, and all said, like one, "Be cursed!" and vanish'd in the deep anon. Then thirst, intolerable as the breath Of Upas, fanning the wild wings of death, Crept up his very gorge,—like to a snake, That stifled him, and bade the pulses ache Through all the boiling current of his blood. It was a thirst, that let the fever flood Fall over him, and gave a ghastly hue To his cramp'd lips, until their breathing grew White as a mist, and short, and like a sigh, Heaved with a struggle, till it falter'd by. And ever he did look upon the corse With idiot visage, like the hag Remorse That gloateth over on a nameless deed Of darkness and of dole unhistoried. And were there that might hear him, they would hear The murmur of a prayer in deep fear, Through unbarr'd lips, escaping by the half, And all but smother'd by a maniac laugh, That follow'd it, so sudden and so shrill, That swarms of sea-birds, wandering at will Upon the wave, rose startled, and away Went flocking, like a silver shower of spray! And aye he called for water, and the sea Mock'd him with his brine surges tauntingly, And lash'd them over on his fev'rous brow, Volleying roars of curses:—"Stay thee, now, Avenger! lest I die; for I am worn Fainter than star-light at the birth of morn; Stay thee, great angel! for I am not shriven, But frantic as thyself: Oh Heaven! Heaven! But thou hast made me brother of the sea, That I may tremble at his tyranny; Or am I slave? a very, very jest To the sarcastic waters? let me breast The base insulters, and defy them so, In this lone little skiff—I am your foe! Ye raving, lion-like, and ramping seas, That open up your nostrils to the breeze, And fain would swallow me! Do ye not fly, Pale, sick, and gurgling, as I pass you by? "Lift up! and let me see, that I may tell Ye can be mad, and strange, and terrible; That ye have power, and passion, and a sound As of the flying of an angel round The mighty world; that ye are one with time, And in the great primordium sublime Were nursed together, as an infant-twain,— A glory and a wonder! I would fain Hold truce, thou elder brother! for we are, In feature, as the sun is to a star, So are we like, and we are touch'd in tune With lunacy as music; and the moon, That setteth the tides sentinel before Thy camp of waters, on the pebbled shore, And measures their great footsteps to and fro, Hath lifted up into my brain the flow Of this mad tide of blood.—Ay! we are like In foam and frenzy; the same winds do strike, The same fierce sun-rays, from their battlement Of fire! so, when I perish impotent Before the night of death, they'll say of me, He died as mad and frantic, as the sea!" A cloud stood for the east, a cloud like night, Like a huge vulture, and the blessed light Of the great sun grew shadow'd awfully: It seem'd to mount up from the mighty sea, Shaking the showers from its solemn wings, And grew, and grew, and many a myriad springs, Were on its bosom, teeming full of rain. There fell a terrible and wizard chain Of lightning, from its black and heated forge, And the dark waters took it to their gorge, And lifted up their shaggy flanks in wonder With rival chorus to the peal of thunder, That wheel'd in many a squadron terrible The stern black clouds, and as they rose and fell They oozed great showers; and Julio held up His wasted hands, in likeness of a cup, And drank the blessed waters, and they roll'd Upon his cheeks like tears, but sadly cold!— 'Twas very strange to look on Agathè! How the quick lightnings, in their elfin play, Stream'd pale upon her features, and they were Sickly, like tapers in a sepulchre! The ship! that self same ship, that Julio knew Had pass'd him, with her panic-stricken crew, She gleams amid the storm, a shatter'd thing Of pride and lordly beauty: her fair wing Of sail is wounded—the proud pennon gone: Dark, dark she sweepeth like an eagle, on Through waters that are battling to and fro, And tossing their great giant shrouds of snow Over her deck. Ahead, and there is seen A black, strange line of breakers, down between The awful surges, lifting up their manes, Like great sea lions. Quick and high she strains Her foaming keel—that solitary ship! As if, in all her frenzy, she would leap The cursed barrier; forward, fast and fast— Back, back she reels; her timbers and her mast Split in a thousand shivers! A white spring Of the exulted sea rose bantering Over her ruin; and the mighty crew, That mann'd her decks, were seen, a straggling few, Far scatter'd on the surges. Julio felt The impulse of that hour, and low he knelt, Within his own light bark—a prayful man! And clasp'd his lifeless bride; and to her wan, Cold cheek did lay his melancholy brow.— "Save thou a mariner!" He starteth now To hear that dying cry; and there is one, All worn and wave-wet, by his bark anon, Clinging, in terror of the ireful sea, A fair hair'd mariner! But suddenly He saw the pale dead ladye, by a flame Of blue and livid lightning, and there came Over his features blindness, and the power Of his strong hands grew weak,—a giant shower Of foam rose up, and swept him far along; And Julio saw him buffeting the throng Of the great eddying waters, till they went Over him—a wind-shaken cerement! Then terribly he laugh'd, and rose above His soul-less bride—the ladye of his love Lifting him up, in all his wizard glee; And he did wave, before the frantic sea, His wasted arm. "Adieu! adieu! adieu! Thou sawest how we were; thou sawest, too, Thou wert not so; for in the inmost shrine Of my deep heart are thoughts that are not thine. And thou art gone, fair mariner! in foam And music-murmurs, to thy blessed home— Adieu! adieu! Thou sawest how that she Sleeps in her holy beauty, tranquilly; And when the fair and floating vision breaks From her pure brow, and Agathè awakes— Till then, we meet not; so adieu, adieu!" Still on before the sullen tempest flew, Fast as a meteor star, the lonely bark: And Julio bent over to the dark, The solitary sea, for close beside Floated the stringed harp of one that died In that wild shipwreck, and he drew it home, With madness, to his bosom: the white foam Was o'er its strings; and on the streaming sail He wiped them, running, with his fingers pale, Along the tuneless notes, that only gave Seldom responses to his wandering stave!

I Jewel! that lay before the heart Of some romantic boy, And startled music in her home, Of mystery and joy! II The image of his love was there; And, with her golden wings, She swept her tone of sorrow from Thy melancholy strings! III We drew thee, as an orphan one, From waters that had cast No music round thee, as they went In their pale beauty past. IV No music but the changeless sigh— That murmur of their own, That loves not blending in the thrill Of thine aerial tone. V The girl that slumbers at our side Will dream how they are bent, That love her even as they love Thy blessed instrument. VI And music, like a flood, will break Upon the fairy throne Of her pure heart, all glowing, like A morning star, alone! VII Alone, but for the song of him That waketh by her side, And strikes thy chords of silver to His fair and sea-borne bride. VIII Jewel! that hung before the heart Of some romantic boy; Like him, I sweep thee with a storm Of music and of joy! And Julio placed the trembling harp before The ladye, till the minstrel winds came o'er Its moisten'd strings, and tuned them with a sigh. "I hear thee, how thy spirit goeth by, In music and in love. Oh Agathè! Thou sleepest long, long, long; and they will say That seek thee,—'She is dead—she is no more!' But thou art cold, and I will throw before Thy chilly brow the pale and snowy sheet." And he did lift it from her marble feet, The sea-wet shroud! and flung it silently Over her brow—the brow of Agathè! But, as a passion from the mooded mind, The storm had died, and wearily the wind Fell fast asleep at evening, like one That hath been toiling in the fiery sun. And the white sail dropt downward, as the wing Of wounded sea-bird, feebly murmuring Unto the mast. It was a deathly calm, And holy stillness, like a shadow, swam All over the wide sea, and the boat stood. Like her of Sodom, in the solitude, A snowy pillar, looking on the waste. And there was nothing but the azure breast Of ocean and the sky—the sea and sky, And the lone bark; no clouds were floating by Where the sun set, but his great seraph light, Went down alone, in majesty and might; And the stars came again, a silver troop, Until, in shame, the coward shadows droop Before the radiance of these holy gems, That bear the images of diadems! And Julio fancied of a form that rose Before him from the desolate repose Of the deep waters—a huge ghastly form, As of one lightning-stricken in a storm; And leprosy cadaverous was hung Before his brow, and awful terror flung Around him like a pall—a solemn shroud!— A drapery of darkness and of cloud! And agony was writhing on his lip, Heart-rooted, awful agony and deep, Of fevers, and of plagues, and burning blain, And ague, and the palsy of the brain— A wierd and yellow spectre! And his eyes Were orbless and unpupil'd, as the skies Without the sun, or moon, or any star: And he was like the wreck of what men are,— A wasted skeleton, that held the crest Of Time, and bore his motto on his breast! There came a group before of maladies, And griefs, and Famine empty as a breeze,— A double monster, with a gloating leer Fix'd on his other half. They drew them near, One after one, led onward by Despair, That like the last of winter glimmer'd there,— A dismal prologue to his brother Death, Which was behind, and, with the horrid breath Of his wide baneful nostrils, plied them on. And often as they saw the skeleton Grisly beside them, the wild phantasies Grew mad and howl'd; the fever of disease Became wild frenzy—very terrible! And, for a hell of agony—a hell Of rage, was there, that fed on misty things, On dreams, ideas, and imaginings. And some were raving on philosophy, And some on love, and some on jealousy, And some upon the moon; and these were they That were the wildest; and anon alway Julio knew them by a something dim About their wasted features like to him! But Death was by, like shell of pyramid Among old obelisks, and his eyeless head Shook o'er the wiery ribs, where darkness lay The image of a heart—He is away! And Julio is watching, like Remorse, Over the pale and solitary corse! Shower soft light, ye stars, that shake the dew From your eternal blossoms! and thou, too, Moon! minded of thy power, tide-bearing queen! That hast a slave and votary within The great rock-fetter'd deeps, and hearest cry To thee the hungry surges, rushing by Like a vast herd of wolves,—fall full and fair On Julio as he sleepeth, even there, Amid the suppliant bosom of the sea!— Sleep! dost thou come, and on thy blessed knee With hush and whisper lull the troubled brain Of this death-lover?—Still the eyes do strain Their orbs on Agathè—those raven eyes! All earnest on the ladye as she lies In her white shroud. They see not, though they are As if they saw; no splendour like a star Is under their dark lashes: they are full Of dream and slumber—melancholy, dull! A wide, wide sea! and on its rear and van Amid the stars, the silent meteors ran All that still night, and Julio with a cry Woke up, and saw them flashing fiercely by. Full three times three, its awful veil of night Hath Heaven hung before the blessed light; And a fair breeze falls o'er the sleeping sea, Where Julio is watching Agathè! By sun and darkness hath he bent him over— A mad, moon-stricken, melancholy lover! And hardly hath he tasted, night or day, Of drink or food, because of Agathè! He sitteth in a dull and dreary mood, Like statue in a ruin'd solitude, Bearing the brent of sunlight and of shade Over the marble of some colonnade. The ladye, she hath lost the pearly hue Upon her gorgeous brow, where tresses grew Luxuriantly as thoughts of tenderness, That once were floating in the pure recess Of her bright soul. These are not as they were, But are as weeds above a sepulchre, Wild waving in the breeze: her eyes are now Sunk deeply under the discolour'd brow, That is of sickly yellow, and pale blue, Unnaturally blending. The same hue Is on her cheek: it is the early breath Of cold Corruption, the ban dog of Death, Falling upon her features.—Let it be, And gaze awhile on Julio, as he Is gazing on the corse of Agathè! In truth, he seemeth like no living one, But is the image of a skeleton: A fearful portrait from the artist tool Of Madness—terrible and wonderful! There was no passion there—no feeling traced Under those eyelids, where had run to waste, All that was wild, or beautiful, or bright; A very cloud was cast upon their light, That gave to them the heavy hue of lead; And they were lorn, and lustreless, and dead! He sate like vulture from the mountains gray, Unsated, that had flown full many a day O'er distant land and sea, and was in pride Alighted by the lonely ladye's side. He sate like winter o'er the wasted year— Like melancholy winter, drawing near To its own death.—"Oh me! the worm, at last, Will gorge upon me, and the autumn blast Howl by!—Where?—where?—there is no worm to creep Amid the waters of the lonely deep; But I will take me Agathè upon This sorrowful, sore bosom, and anon, Down, down, through azure silence, we shall go, Unepitaph'd, to cities far below; Where the sea triton, with his winding shell, Shall sound our blessed welcome. We shall dwell With many a mariner in his pearly home, In bowers of amber weed and silver foam, Amid the crimson corals; we shall be Together, Agathè! fair Agathè!— But thou art sickly, ladye—thou art sad; And I am weary, ladye—I am mad! They bring no food to feed us, and I feel A frost upon my vitals, very chill, Like winter breaking on the golden year Of life. This bark shall be our floating bier, And the dark waves our mourners; and the white, Pure swarm of sunny sea birds, basking bright On some far isle, shall sorrowfully pour Their wail of melancholy o'er and o'er, At evening, on the waters of the sea,— While, with its solemn burden, silently, Floats forward our lone bark.—Oh, Agathè! Methinks that I shall meet thee far away, Within the awful centre of the earth, Where, earliest, we had our holy birth— In some huge cavern, arching wide below, Upon whose airy pivot, years ago, The world went round: 'tis infinitely deep, But never dismal; for above it sleep, And under it, blue waters, hung aloof, And held below,—an amethystine roof, A sapphire pavement; and the golden sun, Afar, looks through alternately, like one That watches round some treasure: often, too, Through many a mile of ocean, sparkling through, Are seen the stars and moon, all gloriously, Bathing their angel brilliance in the sea! "And there are shafted pillars, that beyond, Are ranged before a rock of diamond, Awfully heaving its eternal heights, From base of silver strewn with chrysolites; And over it are chasms of glory seen, With crimson rubies clustering between, On sward of emerald, with leaves of pearl, And topazes hung brilliantly on beryl. So Agathè!—but thou art sickly sad, And tellest me, poor Julio is mad— Ay, mad!—was he not madder when he sware A vow to Heaven? was there no madness there, That he should do—for why?—a holy string Of penances? No penances will bring The stricken conscience to the blessed light Of peace,—Oh! I am lost, and there is night, Despair and darkness, darkness and despair, And want, that hunts me to the lion-lair Of wild perdition: and I hear them all— All cursing me! The very sun-rays fall In curses, and the shadow of the moon, And the pale star light, and the winds that tune Their voices to the music of the sea,— And thou,—yes, thou! my gentle Agathè!— All curse me!—Oh! that I were never, never!— Or but a breathless fancy, that was ever Adrift upon the wilderness of Time, That knew no impulse, but was left sublime To play at its own will!—that I were hush'd At night by silver cataracts, that gush'd Through flowers of fairy hue, and then to die Away, with all before me passing by, Like a fair vision I had lived to see, And died to see no more!—It cannot be! By this right hand! I feel it is not so, And by the beating of a heart below, That strangely feareth for eternity!" He said, and gazing on the lonely sea, Far off he saw, like an ascending cloud, To westward, a bright island, lifted proud Amid the struggling waters, and the light Of the great sun was on its clifted height, Scattering golden shadow, like a mirror; But the gigantic billows sprung in terror Upon its rock-built and eternal shore, With silver foams that fell in fury o'er A thousand sunny breakers. Far above, There stood a wild and solitary grove Of aged pines, all leafless but their brows, Where a green group of tempest-stricken boughs Was waving now and then, and to and fro, And the pale moss was clustering below. Then Julio saw, and bent his head away To the cold wasted corse of Agathè, And sigh'd; but ever he would turn again A gaze to that green island on the main. The bark is drifting through the surf, beside Its rocks of gray upon the coming tide; And lightly is it stranded on the shore Of pure and silver shells, that lie before, Glittering in the glory of the sun; And Julio hath landed him, like one That aileth of some wild and weary pest; And Agathè is folded on his breast,— A faded flower! with all the vernal dews From its bright blossom shaken, and the hues Become as colourless as twilight air— I marvel much, that she was ever fair!