Such frenzy slow invaded the poor girl. Not hers the hovering sense of marriage bells Tuning the air with fragrance of sweet sound; But the low dirge that ever rose and died, Recurring without pause or any close, Like one verse chaunted aye in sleepless brain. Down to the shore it drew her from the heights, Like witch's demon-spell, that fearful moan. She knew that somewhere in the green abyss His body swung in curves of watery force, Now in a circle slow revolved, and now Swaying like wind-swung bell, when surface waves Sank their roots deep enough to reach the waif, Hither and thither, idly to and fro, Wandering unheeding through the heedless sea. A kind of fascination seized her brain, And drew her onward to the ridgy rocks That ran a little way into the deep, Like questions asked of Fate by longing hearts, Bound which the eternal ocean breaks in sighs. Along their flats, and furrows, and jagged backs, Out to the lonely point where the green mass Arose and sank, heaved slow and forceful, she Went; and recoiled in terror; ever drawn, Ever repelled, with inward shuddering At the great, heartless, miserable depth. She thought the ocean lay in wait for her, Enticing her with horror's glittering eye, And with the hope that in an hour sure fixed In some far century, aeons remote, She, conscious still of love, despite the sea, Should, in the washing of perennial waves, Sweep o'er some stray bone, or transformed dust Of him who loved her on this happy earth, Known by a dreamy thrill in thawing nerves. For so the fragments of wild songs she sung Betokened, as she sat and watched the tide, Till, as it slowly grew, it touched her feet; When terror overcame--she rose and fled Towards the shore with fear-bewildered eye; And, stumbling on the rocks with hasty steps, Cried, "They are coming, coming at my heels." Perhaps like this the songs she used to wail In the rough northern tongue of Aberdeen:-- Ye'll hae me yet, ye'll hae me yet, Sae lang an' braid, an' never a hame! Its nae the depth I fear a bit, But oh, the wideness, aye the same! The jaws[1] come up, wi' eerie bark; Cryin' I'm creepy, cauld, an' green; Come doon, come doon, he's lyin' stark, Come doon an' steek his glowerin' een. Syne wisht! they haud their weary roar, An' slide awa', an' I grow sleepy: Or lang, they're up aboot my door, Yowlin', I'm cauld, an' weet, an' creepy! O dool, dool! ye are like the tide-- Ye mak' a feint awa' to gang; But lang awa' ye winna bide,-- An' better greet than aye think lang. [Footnote 1: Jaws: _English_, breakers.]