A sail is on the wide And moving waters, and it draweth nigh Like a sea-cloud. The elfin billows fly Before it, in their armories enthrall’d Of radiant and moon-breasted emerald: And many is the mariner that sees That lone boat in the melancholy breeze, Waving her snowy canvass, and anon Their stately vessel with a gallant run Crowds by in all her glory; but the cheer Of men is pass’d into a sudden fear, And whisperings, and shaking of the head.— The moon was streaming on a virgin dead, And Julio sat over her insane, Like a sea demon! o’er and o’er again, Each cross’d him, as the stately vessel stood Far out into the murmuring solitude! But Julio saw not; he only heard A rushing, like the passing of a bird, And felt him heaving on the foam, that flew Along the startled billows: and he knew Of a strange sail, by broken oaths that fell Beside him, on the coming of the swell. “They knew thou wert a queen, my royal bride! And made obeisance at thy holy side. They saw thee, Agathè! and go to bring Fair worshippers, and many a poet-king, To utter music at thy pearly feet.— Now, wake thee! for the moonlight cometh sweet, To visit in thy temple of the sea; Thy sister moon is watching over thee! And she is spreading a fair mantle of Pure silver, in thy lonely palace, love!— Now, wake thee! for the sea-bird is aloof, In solitude, below the starry roof: And on its dewy plume there is a light Of palest splendor, o’er the blessed night. Thy spirit, Agathè!—and yet thou art Beside me, and my solitary heart Is throbbing near to thee: I must not feel The sweet notes of thy holy music steal Into my feverous and burning brain,— So wake not! and I’ll hush thee with a strain Of my wild fancy, till thou dream of me, And I be loved as I have lovéd thee:—” SONG. ’Tis light to love thee living, girl, when hope is full and fair In the springtide of thy beauty, when there is no sorrow there— No sorrow on thy brow, and no shadow on thy heart! When, like a floating sea-bird, bright and beautiful thou art! ’Tis light to love thee living, girl—to see thee ever so, With health, that, like a crimson flower, lies blushing in the snow; And thy tresses falling over, like the amber on the pearl— Oh! true, it is a _lightsome_ thing, to love thee living, girl: