Decked as a bride with charms
She left her ancient isle
To come unto my arms–
I waited, mile on mile.
A maiden ship, all gay
With gilt and 'broidery,
She sang, upon her way,
'Neptune, I come to thee!'
But all the journey long
Spite of her revelry,
I heard her undersong,
'Nay, but I would be free!'
Then I sent curtseying hosts
To greet her as she came–
Soundless and white as ghosts
And terrible as flame.
They drew her to my side,
Fair in her wedding dress,
Where every lapping tide
Shall give her my caress.
. . . .
'God of all souls forlorn,'–
The cry comes piteously
From hearts by anguish torn–
'Restore my dead to me!'
[Page 377]
