"Nay, if thou wil'st, back to the beating brine,
Back to the boisterous billow let us go,
And all day beneath the hyaline
Huge vault of Neptune's watery portico,
And watch the purple monsters of the deep
Sport in ungainly play, and from his lair keen
Xiphias leap.
"For if my mistress find me lying here
She will not ruth or gentle pity show,
But lay her boar-spear down, and with austere
Relentless fingers string the cornel bow,
And draw the feathered notch against her breast,
And loose the arched cord, ay, even now upon the
quest
"I hear her hurrying feet,- awake, awake,
Thou laggard in love's battle! once at least
Let me drink deep of passion's wine, and slake
My parched being with the nectarous feast
Which even Gods affect! O come Love come,
Still we have time to reach the cavern of thine
azure home."
Scarce had she spoken when the shuddering trees
Shook, and the leaves divided, and the air
Grew conscious of a God, and the gray seas
Crawled backward, and a long and dismal blare
Blew from some tasseled horn, a sleuth-hound bayed
And like a flame a barbed reed flew whizzing down
the glade.
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