She holds the casket, but her simple hand
Hath spilled its dearest jewel by the way;
She hath life's empty garment at command,
But her own death lies covert in the prey;
As if a thief should steal a tainted vest,
Some dead man's spoil, and sicken of his pest.
Now she compels him to her deeps below,
Hiding his face beneath her plenteous hair,
Which jealously she shakes all round her brow,
For dread of envy, though no eyes are there
But seals', and all brute tenants of the deep,
Which heedless through the wave their journeys keep.
Down and still downward through the dusky green
She bore him, murmuring with joyous haste
In too rash ignorance, as he had been
Born to the texture of that watery waste;
That which she breathed and sighed, the emerald wave, How could her pleasant home become his grave !
Down and still downward through the dusky green
She bore her treasure, with a face too nigh
To mark how life was altered in its mien,
Or how the light grew torpid in his eye,
Or how his pearly breath, unprisoned there,
Flew up to join the universal air.
She could not miss the throbbings of his heart,
Whilst her own pulse so wantoned in its joy;
She could not guess he struggled to depart,
And when he strove no more, the hapless boy!
She read his mortal stillness for content,
Feeling no fear where only love was meant.
Soon she alights upon her ocean-floor,
And straight unyokes her arms from her fair prize;
Then on his lovely face begins to pore,
As if to glut her soul; her hungry eyes
Have grown so jealous of her arms' delight;
It seems, she hath no other sense but sight.
But, O, sad marvel! O, most bitter strange!
What dismal magic makes his cheek so pale ?
Why will he not embrace, why not exchange
Her kindly kisses; wherefore not exhale
Some odorous message from life's ruby gates,
Where she his first sweet embassy awaits?
Her eyes, poor watchers, fixed upon his looks,
Are grappled with a wonder near to grief,
As one who pores on undeciphered books,
Strains vain surmise, and dodges with belief;
So she keeps gazing with a mazy thought,
Framing a thousand doubts that end in nought,
Too stern inscription for a page so young,
The dark translation of his look was death!
But death was written in an alien tongue,
And learning was not by to give it breath;
So one deep woe sleeps buried in its seal,
Which Time, untimely, hasteth to reveal.
Meanwhile she sits unconscious of her hap,
Nursing Death's marble effigy, which there
With heavy head lies pillowed in her lap,
And elbows all unhinged; his sleeking hair
Creeps o'er her knees, and settles where his hand
Leans with lax fingers crooked against the sand;
And there lies spread in many an oozy trail,
Like glossy weeds hung from a chalky base,
That shows no whiter than his brow is pale;
So soon the wintry death had bleached his face
Into cold marble, with blue chilly shades,
Showing wherein the freezy blood pervades.
And o'er his steadfast cheek a furrowed pain
Hath set, and stiffened like a storm in ice,
Showing by drooping lines the deadly strain
Of mortal anguish; - yet you might
- yet you might gaze twice
Ere Death it seemed, and not his cousin, Sleep,
That through those creviced lids did underpeep.
But all that tender bloom about his eyes,
Is Death's own violets, which his utmost rite
It is to scatter when the red rose dies ;
For blue is chilly, and akin to white:
Also he leaves some tinges on his lips,
Which he hath kissed with such cold frosty nips.
Surely," quoth she, "he sleeps, the senseless thing, Oppressed and faint with toiling in the stream!" Therefore she will not mar his rest, but sing So low, her tune shall mingle with his dream ; Meanwhile, her lily fingers tasks to twine His uncrispt locks uncurling in the brine.
thus she attuned her voice,
Welcome, thrice welcome, to a sea-maid's home; My love-mate thou shalt be, and true heart's choice; How have I longed such a twin-self should come, A lonely thing, till this sweet chance befell, My heart kept sighing like a hollow shell.
"Here thou shalt live beneath this secret dome,
An ocean-bower; defended by the shade
Of quiet waters, a cool emerald gloom
To lap thee all about. Nay, be not frayed.
Those are but shady fishes that sail by
Like antic clouds across my liquid sky!
"Look how the sunbeam burns upon their scales,
And shows rich glimpses of their Tyrian skins;
They flash small lightnings from their vigorous tails,
And winking stars are kindled at their fins;
These shall divert thee in thy weariest mood,
And seek thy hand for gamesomeness and food.
"Lo! those green pretty leaves with tassel bells, My flowerets those, that never pine for drowth; Myself did plant them in the dappled shells, That drink the wave with such a rosy mouth, Pearls wouldst thou have beside? crystals to shine? now they are thine.
I had such treasures once,
“Now, lay thine ear against this golden sand,
And thou shalt hear the music of the sea,
Those hollow tunes it plays against the land,
Is't not a rich and wondrous melody?
I have lain hours, and fancied in its tone
I heard the languages of ages gone!
"I too can sing when it shall please thy choice,
And breathe soft tunes through a melodious shell,
Though heretofore I have but set my voice
To some long sighs, grief harmonized, to tell
How desolate I fared; - but this sweet change
Will add new notes of gladness to my range!
“Or bid me speak, and I will tell thee tales,
Which I have framed out of the noise of waves;
Ere now, I have communed with senseless gales,
And held vain colloquies with barren caves;
But I could talk to thee whole days and days,
Only to word my love a thousand ways.
"But if thy lips will bless me with their speech, Then ope, sweet oracles! and I'll be mute; I was born ignorant for thee to teach,
Nay, all love's lore to thy dear looks impute;
Then ope thine eyes, fair teachers, by whose light
I saw to give away my heart aright!"
But cold and deaf the sullen creature lies,
Over her knees, and with concealing clay
Like hoarding Avarice locks up his eyes,
And leaves her world impoverished of day;
Then at his cruel lips she bends to plead,
But there the door is closed against her need.
so her false wits infer!
Alas! poor sluggard, ne'er to wake again!
Surely he sleeps, yet without any stir
That might denote a vision in his brain;
Or if he does not sleep, he feigns too long,
Twice she hath reached the ending of her song.
Therefore, 'tis time she tells him to uncover
Those radiant jesters, and disperse her fears,
Whereby her April face is shaded over,
Like rainy clouds just ripe for showering tears;
Nay, if he will not wake, so poor she gets,
Herself must rob those locked up cabinets.
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