Ah, yes! the sea is still and deep. A plunge, a bubble, and no more; From martyrdom and agony. ELSIE, coming from her chamber upon the terrace. The night is calm and cloudless, And still as still can be, And the stars come forth to listen To the music of the sea. They gather, and gather, and gather, Until they crowd the sky, And listen, in breathless silence, To the solemn litany. It begins in rocky caverns, As a voice that chaunts alone To the pedals of the organ In monotonous undertone; And anon from shelving beaches, And shallow sands beyond, In snow-white robes uprising The ghostly choirs respond. And sadly and unceasing The mournful voice sings on, And the snow-white choirs still answer Christe eleison! PRINCE HENRY. Angel of God! thy finer sense perceives Thy purer soul, that trembles and believes, And tongues of prophets speaking in the leaves. But I hear discord only and despair, And whispers as of demons in the air! AT SEA. IL PADRONE. THE wind upon our quarter lies, That fills the snow-white lateen sail, Around, the billows burst and foam; And then upon their flowing dome Between us and the western skies The hills of Corsica arise; Eastward, in yonder long, blue line, And southward, and still far away, Salerno, on its sunny bay. You cannot see it, where it lies. PRINCE HENRY. Ah, would that never more mine eyes ELSIE. Behind us, dark and awfully, There comes a cloud out of the sea, That bears the form of a hunted deer, With hide of brown, and hoofs of black, And antlers laid upon its back, And fleeing fast and wild with fear, PRINCE HENRY. Lo! while we gaze, it breaks and falls In shapeless masses, like the walls Of a burnt city. Broad and red The fires of the descending sun Glare through the windows, and o'erhead, Athwart the vapors, dense and dun, Like rafters that support the skies! ELSIE. See! from its summit the lurid levin Fell from the battlements of heaven! IL PADRONE. I must entreat you, friends, below! For the weather changes with the moon. All this morning, until noon, We had baffling winds, and sudden flaws Struck the sea with their cat's-paws. Only a little hour ago I was whistling to Saint Antonio For a capful of wind to fill our sail, And instead of a breeze he has sent a gale. Last night I saw Saint Elmo's stars, |