For sure no gladlier does the stranded wreck See thro' the gray skirts of a lifting squall 825 The boat that bears the hope of life approach To save the life despair'd of, than he saw Death dawning on him, and the close of all. For thro' that dawning gleam'd a kindlier hope On Enoch thinking, "after I am gone, 830 Then may she learn I lov'd her to the last." He call'd aloud for Miriam Lane and said, "Woman, I have a secret--only swear, Before I tell you--swear upon the book Not to reveal it, till you see me dead." 835 "Dead," clamor'd the good woman, "hear him talk; I warrant, man, that we shall bring you round." "Swear," added Enoch sternly, "on the book." And on the book, half-frighted, Miriam swore. Then Enoch rolling his gray eyes upon her, 840 "Did you know Enoch Arden of this town?" "Know him?" she said, "I knew him far away. Ay, ay, I mind him coming down the street; Held his head high, and cared for no man, he." Slowly and sadly Enoch answer'd her: 845 "His head is low, and no man cares for him. I think I have not three days more to live; I am the man." At which the woman gave A half-incredulous, half-hysterical cry. "You Arden, you! nay,--sure he was a foot 850 Higher than you be." Enoch said again, "My God has bow'd me down to what I am; My grief and solitude have broken me; Nevertheless, know you that I am he Who married--but that name has twice been changed-- 855 I married her who married Philip Ray. Sit, listen." Then he told her of his voyage, His wreck, his lonely life, his coming back, His gazing in on Annie, his resolve, And how he kept it. As the woman heard, 860 Fast flow'd the current of her easy tears, While in her heart she yearn'd incessantly To rush abroad all round the little haven, Proclaiming Enoch Arden and his woes; But awed and promise-bounden she forbore, 865 Saying only, "See your bairns before you go! Eh, let me fetch 'em, Arden," and arose Eager to bring them down, for Enoch hung A moment on her words, but then replied: