Slowly the thrill of feeling came Along my Ila’s pallid frame; I marked the rising crimson swell Upon the cheek I loved too well, And heard, how joyously! the sigh Which told me that she could not die, At least not then:—she rose at last; One piercing look around she cast, And shrieked!—her memory, ah! too soon Had lighted up those scenes of old, When I, beneath far different moon Than that which brightly rose aboon, My love so passionately told. She spake not still; but day by day I saw her calmly sink away Like some sweet flower or rainbow-form Whose life is withered by the storm. But when I saw her pallid lips Darkling beneath the death-eclipse, She waved me to her side and said— I cannot speak her words—the dead Would stir within their very tomb To hear such tale!—Enough! she died, And I beheld in that sea-room A sister in my ocean-bride. Oh! how I blessed the God above, That she went down unsoiled by love Whose reckless and unholy fire Springs from the heart of low desire. My sire had framed a cunning tale —To shroud his crime, and this the baal! He brought her to our castle’s hall— Saying she was a homeless child, Whom he had found beneath the wall In all her orphan-freedom wild. Of that she told me, on the day She died, thus much I dared to say. And Ila sleeps within the wave, And round her peaceful ocean-tomb The pale flowers of the coral-grave In all their quiet beauty bloom. Sleep on! sleep on in that deep rest— Thou of the stainless brow and breast,— Oh! holy as the stars that shine In all their seraph splendor set, Like torches of a templed-shrine In midnight’s azure coronet. She was avenged! That very hour In which the tide received her form, The deep-blue sky began to lour Beneath the scowling of the storm; And soon the thunder, vast and dark, Shook his red arm above our barque, Whose deck deserted—sails all rent And loose around the shivered mast, Like reeling clouds were blindly sent Before the fury of the blast. “The boats! the boats!” They’re riding well Along that billow’s crested swell. “Save! save yourselves,” I sternly cried, Undaunted on the plunging deck, “I go to seek my ocean-bride, But comrades ye must leave the wreck!” An instant—they were safe! and I Alone stood challenging the sky And rolling waves. With fearless form I dared the spirit of the storm: His red lips answered me—the flame Leaped burning through my blackened frame!— And I was here.— “No more! No more!” He cried, “that agony was o’er:— But this!” He darkly gazed around, Then quivering sank upon the ground; And Lorro on his dread distress