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107
ARIADNE.
‘Prospicit, et magnis curarum fluctuat undis.’l;
Catullus.
Catullus.
109
I
Motionless, like some maddening BacchanalStruck marble in mid frenzy, with the call
Caught on her sundering lips, so seemed she there,
Gazing; all marble, save the rise and fall
Of the long troubled amber of her hair.
II
No motion else; but ever far awayShe gazed towards the sky's low paler grey
The swoll'n seas heaved against, and evermore
Blew in her face white powdery drift of spray—
That live-tressed statue on the lonely shore.
III
So round her there the storm grew gustier,And hoar sky storm-birds round her, with no fear,
Wheeled wondering at this strange unmoving thing,
And nearer to her feet, and yet more near,
The wide white wave-edges washed whispering.
110
IV
But she of nothing such had any care,None of her loosened tiar, and straying hair
Unshepherded in the cold and froward gale—
Fell not from off her salt breast, pale and bare,
The loosened crimson raiment slowly fail.
V
Sorrow had numbed each sense; yea, Sorrow nowHad numbed itself; and she, she wist not how
Nor why she sorrowed—only dreamily
Felt the blown foam-sleet chill on cheek and brow,
Saw the great foam-crests rearing far to sea.
VI
And like the sea her soul was. There she foundA better voice than any of those fast bound
In her lips petrified, and grief-choked breast—
The unutterable despairing of the sound
Of the dull, drear, troubled sea, that could not rest.
VII
Till it seemed despair changed shape, and grew delight,Whenever the proxy-wail of the chafed waves white
Took heart for a stronger gust, and writhed on high
Wildlier, and the whole sea-chorus infinite
Sated her gluttonous grief with a vaster cry.
111
VIII
That saved her—eased the deadly speechlessness,The famine of tears, brought the strained breast some ease;
Ay, verily, there she had found a comforter—
The unfathomable sympathy of the seas,
The desolate depths for fellow-sorrower.
IX
So she endured; and all one hueless hueThe day went by. Little that day she knew
Of time, till at length, south on the lorn sea-line,
A flush of stormy fire aroused her view—
One long low jagg'd red streak—the sunset sign.
X
Then—help. But had that storm-day held its peace,Strewn spangling gold-dust over blue clear seas,
That foamed at edge in twinkling lily-flower,
She had surely died—day's hateful happiness
Robbed of his prize the young god-paramour.
An. æt. 19.
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