on
They sought for Julio. The summer sun
Arose and and set, with his imperial disc
Toward the ocean-waters, heaving brisk
Before the winds,--but Julio came never:
He that was frantic as a foaming river--
Mad as the fall of leaves upon the tide
Of a great tempest, that have fought and died
Along the forest ramparts, and doth still
In its death-struggle desperately reel
Round with the fallen foliage--he was gone,
And none knew whither. Still were chanted on
Sad masses, by pale sisters, many a day,
And holy requiems sung for Agathe!

CHIMERA II

A curse! a curse! the beautiful pale wing
Of a sea-bird was worn with wandering,
And, on a sunny rock beside the shore,
It stood, the golden waters gazing o'er;
And they were heaving a brown amber flow
Of weeds, that glitter'd gloriously below.

It was the sunset, and the gorgeous hall
Of heaven rose up on pillars magical
Of living silver, shafting the fair sky
Between dark time and great eternity.
They rose upon their pedestal of sun,
A line of snowy columns! and anon
Were lost in the rich tracery of cloud
That hung along, magnificently proud,
Predicting the pure star-light, that beyond
The east was armouring in diamond
About the camp of twilight, and was soon
To marshal under the fair champion moon,
That call'd her chariot of unearthly mist,
Toward her citadel of amethyst.

A curse! a curse! a lonely man is there
By the deep waters, with a burden fair
Clasp'd in his wearied arms--'Tis he; 'tis he
The brain-struck Julio, and Agathe!
His cowl is back--flung back upon the breeze,
His lofty brow is haggard with disease,
As if a wild libation had been pour'd
Of lightning on those temples, and they shower'd
A dismal perspiration, like a rain,
Shook by the thunder and the hurricane!

He dropt upon a rock, and by him placed,
Over a bed of sea-pinks growing waste,
The silent ladye, and he mutter'd wild,
Strange words, about a mother, and no child.
"And I shall wed thee, Agathe! although
Ours be no God-blest bridal--even so!"
And from the sand he took a silver shell,
That had been wasted by the fall and swell
Of many a moon-borne tide into a ring--
A rude, rude ring; it was a snow-white thing,
Where a lone hermit limpet slept and died,
In age