 | The Death-Wake |  |
He lifts her in his arms, and, o'er and o'er,
Upon the brow of chilliness and hoar,
Repeats a silent kiss;—along the side
Of the lone bark, he leans that pallid bride,
Until the waves do image her within
Their bosom, like a spectre—'Tis a sin
Too deadly to be shadow'd or forgiven,
To do such mockery in the sight of Heaven!
And bid her gaze into the startled sea,
And say, “Thy image, from eternity,
Hath come to meet thee, ladye!” and anon,
He bade the cold corse kiss the shadowy one,
That shook amid the waters, like the light
Of borealis in a winter night!
Upon the brow of chilliness and hoar,
51
Of the lone bark, he leans that pallid bride,
Until the waves do image her within
Their bosom, like a spectre—'Tis a sin
Too deadly to be shadow'd or forgiven,
To do such mockery in the sight of Heaven!
And bid her gaze into the startled sea,
And say, “Thy image, from eternity,
Hath come to meet thee, ladye!” and anon,
He bade the cold corse kiss the shadowy one,
That shook amid the waters, like the light
Of borealis in a winter night!
| The Death-Wake | |