He is beside The ghastly Julio and his ghastlier bride. ’Twas wond’rous strange to gaze upon the two! And the old hermit felt a throbbing through His pulses—“Holy Virgin! save me, save!” He deem’d of spectre from the midnight wave, And cross’d him thrice, and pray’d and pray’d again: “Hence! hence!” and Julio started as the strain Of exorcisms fell faintly on his ear: “I knew thee, father, that thou beest here To gaze upon this girl, as I have been. By yonder moon! it was a frantic sin To worship so an image of the clay; It was like beauty—but is now away— What lived upon her features, like the light On yonder cloud, all tender and all bright; But it is faded as the other must, And she that was all beauty is all dust. “Father! thy hand upon this brow of mine And tell me is it cold? But she will twine No wreath upon these temples—never, never! For there she lieth like a streamless river That stagnates in its bed. Feel, feel me here, If I be madly throbbing in the fear For that cold slimy worm. Ay! look and see How dotingly it feeds, how pleasantly! And where it is have been the living hues Of beauty, purer than the very dews. So, father! seest thou that yonder moon Will be on wane to-morrow, soon and soon? And I, that feel my being wear away, Shall droop beside to darkness: so, but say A prayer for the dead, when I am gone And let the azure tide that floweth on Cover us lightly with its murmuring surf, Like a green sward of melancholy turf; Thou mayest, if thou wilt, thou mayest rear A cenotaph on this lone island here, Of some rude mossy stone, below a tree, And carve an olden rhyme for her and me Upon its brow.”