So wholly had her mind forgot All thoughts but one, she heeded not The rising storm—the wave that cast A moment’s midnight, as it pass’d— Nor heard the frequent shout, the tread Of gathering tumult o’er her head— Clash’d swords, and tongues that seem’d to vie With the rude riot of the sky.— But, hark!—that war-whoop on the deck— That crash, as if each engine there, Masts, sails, and all, were gone to wreck, Mid yells and stampings of despair! Merciful Heaven! what _can_ it be? ’Tis not the storm, though fearfully The ship has shudder’d as she rode O’er mountain-waves—“Forgive me, God! “Forgive me”—shrieked the maid, and knelt, Trembling all over—for she felt As if her judgment-hour was near While crouching round, half dead with fear, Her handmaids clung, nor breath’d, nor stirr’d— When, hark!—a second crash—a third— And now, as if a bolt of thunder Had riv’n the labouring planks asunder, The deck falls in—what horrors then! Blood, waves, and tackle, swords and men Come mix’d together through the chasm,— Some wretches in their dying spasm Still fighting on—and some that call “For GOD and IRAN!” as they fall! Whose was the hand that turn’d away The perils of the’ infuriate fray, And snatch’d her breathless from beneath This wilderment of wreck and death? She knew not—for a faintness came Chill o’er her, and her sinking frame Amid the ruins of that hour Lay, like a pale and scorched flower, Beneath the red volcano’s shower. But, oh! the sights and sounds of dread That shock’d her ere her senses fled! The yawning deck—the crowd that strove Upon the tottering planks above— The sail, whose fragments, shivering o’er The strugglers’ heads, all dash’d with gore, Flutter’d like bloody flags—the clash Of sabres, and the lightning’s flash Upon their blades, high toss’d about Like meteor brands[276]—as if throughout The elements one fury ran, One general rage, that left a doubt Which was the fiercer, Heaven or Man! Once too—but no—it could not be— ’Twas fancy all—yet once she thought, While yet her fading eyes could see, High on the ruin’d deck she caught A glimpse of that unearthly form, That glory of her soul,—e’en then, Amid the whirl of wreck and storm, Shining above his fellow-men, As, on some black and troublous night, The Star of EGYPT,[277] whose proud light Never hath beam’d on those who rest In the White Islands of the West,[278] Burns through the storm with looks of flame That put Heaven’s cloudier eyes to shame. But no—’twas but the minute’s dream— A fantasy—and ere the scream Had half-way pass’d her pallid lips, A death-like swoon, a chill eclipse Of soul and sense its darkness spread Around her, and she sunk, as dead.