Looking upon the waves; on the bare strand Upon the sea-mark a small boat did wait, Fair as herself, like Love by Hope left desolate. XVII It seemed that this fair Shape had looked upon That unimaginable fight, and now That her sweet eyes were weary of the sun, As brightly it illustrated her woe; For in the tears, which silently to flow Paused not, its lustre hung: she, watching aye The foam-wreaths which the faint tide wove below Upon the spangled sands, groaned heavily, And after every groan looked up over the sea. XVIII And when she saw the wounded His path between the waves, her From her immovable eyes; no voice of wail Escaped her; but she rose, and, on the gale Loosening her star-bright robe and shadowy hair, Poured forth her voice; the caverns of the vale That opened to the ocean caught it there, And filled with silver sounds the overflowing air. XIX She spake in language whose strange melody |