The warrior world was lifting to the bent Of his eternal brow magnificent, The fiery moon, that in her blazonry Shone eastward, like a shield. The throbbing sea Felt fever on his azure arteries, That shadow’d them with crimson, while the breeze Fell faster on the solitary sail. But the red moon grew loftier and pale, And the great ocean, like the holy hall, Where slept a seraph host maritimal, Was gorgeous, with wings of diamond Fann’d over it, and millions beyond Of tiny waves were playing to and fro, All musical, with an incessant flow Of cadences, innumerably heard Between the shrill notes of a hermit bird, That held a solemn pæan to the moon. A few devotional fair clouds were soon Breath’d o’er the living countenance of Heaven, And under the great galaxies were driven Of stars that group’d together, and they went Like voyagers along the firmament, And grew to silver in the blessed light Of the moon alchymist. It was not night, Not the dark deathly shadow, that falls o’er The eye-lid like a curse, but far before In splendor, struggling through a fall of gloom, In many a myriad gushes, that do come Direct from the eternal stars beyond, Like holy fountains pouring diamond! A sail! awake thee, Julio! a sail! And be not bending to thy trances pale. But he is gazing on the moonlit brow Of his dead Agathè, and fondly now, The light is silvering her bloodless face And the cold grave-clothes. There is loveliness As in a marble image, very bright! But stricken with a phantasy of light That is not given to the mortal hue, To life and breathing beauty: and she too Is more of the expressless lineament, Than of the golden thoughts that came and went Over her features, like a living tide No while before.