ANDROMEDA.

LLoosenmy arms! leave me one poor hand free,That I may shut one moment from my sightThe dreadful heaving of the shuddering sea!For as it creeps back slowly from my feet,Rise from its inky depths swift-coming wavesBig with the terrible and nameless thingThat soon along the shrinking sands will crawlTo wrap me in its hideous embrace.I will not struggle! leave me but one handTo shield the poor eyes that refuse to close;For stretched and wide the fascinated lidsDeny their office, and I needs must look!What have I done, that these fair limbs of mine,(Nay, nay; I meant not fair; the gods forbidThat I should boast!) but young and piteousAnd tender with soft flesh—O mother, takeYour proud words back! O nymphs, be pitiful!The green waves part, and poisonous is the air!Red the fangs glitter! save me, O ye gods!Nay, what is this that wraps my shuddering limbsWith sudden coolness?—Can it be that nowThe merciless tall cliff which all day longRefused its wonted shadow to protectMy burning body from the dazzling sun,Relents, and spreads its gentle shade aroundTo calm my reeling senses? Nay, for moreIt seems to me like white o’ershadowing wings,Circling above my head. Alas! so dimMy poor eyes are with tears, I cannot seeWhat this may be so near me; yet it seemsLike some young, gallant knight. Alack, good sir,If thou art come to free my quivering limbs,Know that against the gods contend in vainThe bravest knights. And yet how like a godHimself he stands! See how he spurns the ground,Poised with sustaining wings upon the air,And deals the monster a sharp, sudden blowThat sends him reeling from the trembling shore!Shattered, I hear the chains fall to my feet;Yet much I fear another gentler fateFetters my heart anew. O valiant knight,If in thy sight this tearful face was fair,—(Fair dare I call it now; since thou art nearTo shield me ever from the envious hateOf those less fair!) if worth it seemed to theeThe dreadful daring of the doubtful fight,Surely that best should be thy dear rewardWhich prompted thee to struggle; all is thine!The dim eyes, dull with weeping bitter tears,Shall brighten at the sound of thy strong voice;The frail hands, red with struggling to be free,Once more shall turn to lilies in thy clasp;Rose-red for thee shall flush with happinessThe poor, pale cheeks, still white with sickening fear;The tired feet sustained and strong shall grow,Walking beside thee; nay, dear love, not yet;For still they tremble, still I seem to needThy firm supporting arm around me thrown.Fold me then, dearest, in thy close embrace;Bear me across the treacherous, yielding sands,To that far country which must needs be fair,Since thou hast followed from its chivalry,Where I may now forget all else but thee.

Loosenmy arms! leave me one poor hand free,

That I may shut one moment from my sight

The dreadful heaving of the shuddering sea!

For as it creeps back slowly from my feet,

Rise from its inky depths swift-coming waves

Big with the terrible and nameless thing

That soon along the shrinking sands will crawl

To wrap me in its hideous embrace.

I will not struggle! leave me but one hand

To shield the poor eyes that refuse to close;

For stretched and wide the fascinated lids

Deny their office, and I needs must look!

What have I done, that these fair limbs of mine,

(Nay, nay; I meant not fair; the gods forbid

That I should boast!) but young and piteous

And tender with soft flesh—O mother, take

Your proud words back! O nymphs, be pitiful!

The green waves part, and poisonous is the air!

Red the fangs glitter! save me, O ye gods!

Nay, what is this that wraps my shuddering limbsWith sudden coolness?—Can it be that nowThe merciless tall cliff which all day longRefused its wonted shadow to protectMy burning body from the dazzling sun,Relents, and spreads its gentle shade aroundTo calm my reeling senses? Nay, for moreIt seems to me like white o’ershadowing wings,Circling above my head. Alas! so dimMy poor eyes are with tears, I cannot seeWhat this may be so near me; yet it seemsLike some young, gallant knight. Alack, good sir,If thou art come to free my quivering limbs,Know that against the gods contend in vainThe bravest knights. And yet how like a godHimself he stands! See how he spurns the ground,Poised with sustaining wings upon the air,And deals the monster a sharp, sudden blowThat sends him reeling from the trembling shore!Shattered, I hear the chains fall to my feet;Yet much I fear another gentler fateFetters my heart anew. O valiant knight,If in thy sight this tearful face was fair,—(Fair dare I call it now; since thou art nearTo shield me ever from the envious hateOf those less fair!) if worth it seemed to theeThe dreadful daring of the doubtful fight,Surely that best should be thy dear rewardWhich prompted thee to struggle; all is thine!The dim eyes, dull with weeping bitter tears,Shall brighten at the sound of thy strong voice;The frail hands, red with struggling to be free,Once more shall turn to lilies in thy clasp;Rose-red for thee shall flush with happinessThe poor, pale cheeks, still white with sickening fear;The tired feet sustained and strong shall grow,Walking beside thee; nay, dear love, not yet;For still they tremble, still I seem to needThy firm supporting arm around me thrown.Fold me then, dearest, in thy close embrace;Bear me across the treacherous, yielding sands,To that far country which must needs be fair,Since thou hast followed from its chivalry,Where I may now forget all else but thee.

Nay, what is this that wraps my shuddering limbs

With sudden coolness?—Can it be that now

The merciless tall cliff which all day long

Refused its wonted shadow to protect

My burning body from the dazzling sun,

Relents, and spreads its gentle shade around

To calm my reeling senses? Nay, for more

It seems to me like white o’ershadowing wings,

Circling above my head. Alas! so dim

My poor eyes are with tears, I cannot see

What this may be so near me; yet it seems

Like some young, gallant knight. Alack, good sir,

If thou art come to free my quivering limbs,

Know that against the gods contend in vain

The bravest knights. And yet how like a god

Himself he stands! See how he spurns the ground,

Poised with sustaining wings upon the air,

And deals the monster a sharp, sudden blow

That sends him reeling from the trembling shore!

Shattered, I hear the chains fall to my feet;

Yet much I fear another gentler fate

Fetters my heart anew. O valiant knight,

If in thy sight this tearful face was fair,—

(Fair dare I call it now; since thou art near

To shield me ever from the envious hate

Of those less fair!) if worth it seemed to thee

The dreadful daring of the doubtful fight,

Surely that best should be thy dear reward

Which prompted thee to struggle; all is thine!

The dim eyes, dull with weeping bitter tears,

Shall brighten at the sound of thy strong voice;

The frail hands, red with struggling to be free,

Once more shall turn to lilies in thy clasp;

Rose-red for thee shall flush with happiness

The poor, pale cheeks, still white with sickening fear;

The tired feet sustained and strong shall grow,

Walking beside thee; nay, dear love, not yet;

For still they tremble, still I seem to need

Thy firm supporting arm around me thrown.

Fold me then, dearest, in thy close embrace;

Bear me across the treacherous, yielding sands,

To that far country which must needs be fair,

Since thou hast followed from its chivalry,

Where I may now forget all else but thee.

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