CVIII.

Or think of Ariadne's utter trance, Crazed by the flight of that disloyal traitor, Who left her gazing on the green expanse That swallowed up his track,--yet this would mate her, Ev'n in the cloudy summit of her woe, When o'er the far sea-brim she saw him go.

CIX.

For even so she bows, and bends her gaze O'er the eternal waste, as if to sum Its waves by weary thousands all her days, Dismally doom'd! meanwhile the billows come, And coldly dabble with her quiet feet, Like any bleaching stones they wont to greet.

CX.

And thence into her lap have boldly sprung, Washing her weedy tresses to and fro, That round her crouching knees have darkly hung; But she sits careless of waves' ebb and flow, Like a lone beacon on a desert coast, Showing where all her hope was wreck'd and lost.

CXI.

Yet whether in the sea or vaulted sky, She knoweth not her lover's abrupt resort, So like a shape of dreams he left her eye, Winking with doubt. Meanwhile, the churls' report Has throng'd the beach with many a curious face, That peeps upon her from its hiding place.

CXII.

And here a head, and there a brow half seen, Dodges behind a rock. Here on his hands A mariner his crumpled cheeks doth lean Over a rugged crest. Another stands, Holding his harmful arrow at the head, Still check'd by human caution and strange dread.

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.