“Not such, O questioner, was the sin that brings Us hither; but on earth so weak a part We chose, that now no part in heavenly things Is granted us, nor yet will Hell’s deep heart Receive us, but in this dim borderland We dwell, and follow here our hollow art Of weaving tales, and are in semblance gay, Moved by a might we never may withstand. To our own dear delights we turned away; Forgot the city full of tears, forgot The tolling bells, abandoned even to pray; But couched in some delectable safe spot Saw breezy olives whiten like the sea, And babbled, fools, of Love, and knew him not, Who else had set us from the grim Gate free, Being giant-strong to save the souls of men. But Hate came to us, richly masked, and we Esteemed him Love; and now among us ten Sits very Hate. The life we prized is ours For aye! Yet not so far, I deem, this den From sound of suffering as our fields of flowers.” With that weird smile, she turned as if to go. Loud groaned the lurid City, the sullen fen Of Styx, and all that grief that lies below. “Farewell,” I sighed, “Fiammetta!” But she, “Not so! What life is thine? Perchance we meet again!” MARINA SINGS (_Pericles_, Act V. Scene I) This is the song Marina sang To forlorn Pericles: Silver the young voice rang. The gray beard blew about his knees, And the hair of his bowed head, like a veil, Fell over his cheeks and blent with it: He knew not anything. Above him the Tyrian fold Of the curtain billowed, fringed with gold, As might beseem a king. Sunset was rose on every sail That did along the far sea flit, And rose on the cedarn deck Of the ship that at anchor swayed; And the harbour was golden-lit. He lifted not his neck At the coming of the maid. She swept him with her eyes, As though some tender wing Just touched a bleaching wreck In sheeted sand that lies; Then she began to sing. THE SONG Hush, ah hush! the sea is kind! Lullaby is in the wind; Grief the babe forgets to weep, Lapped and spelled and laid to sleep: His lip is wet with the milk of the spray; He shall not wake till another day. Ah hush! the sea is kind! Who can tell, ah who can tell, The cradling nurse’s croonèd spell? While the slumber-web she weaves Never nursling stirs or grieves: The tears that drowned his sweet eye-beams Are turned to mists of rainbow dreams. Ah hush! she charms us well! “All thy hurts I balm and bind; All thy heart’s loves thou shalt find!” Yea, this she murmurs, best of all: “It was not loss that did befall! All thy joys are put away; They shall be thine another day!” Ah hush! the sea is kind!