the eternal stars beyond,
Like holy fountains pouring diamond!

A sail! awake thee, Julio! a sail!
And be not bending to thy trances pale.
But he is gazing on the moonlit brow
Of his dead Agathe, and fondly now,
The light is silvering her bloodless face
And the cold grave-clothes. There is loveliness
As in a marble image, very bright!
But stricken with a phantasy of light
That is not given to the mortal hue,
To life and breathing beauty: and she too
Is more of the expressless lineament,
Than of the golden thoughts that came and went
Over her features like a living tide
No while before.

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
The 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 shakings 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, Agathe! 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 splendour, o'er the blessed night.
Thy spirit, Agathe!--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 stea