"Lightly o'er the moon-lit sea
Bounds my lover's bark to me;
The breeze hath woo'd the fluttering sail,
Fast flies the prow from the wanton gale."
The lady sung.—'Twas the lone sea-mew
O'er the waters wail'd, as he wistfully flew.
"Swiftly through the curling foam,
Waft, ye winds, my true love home:
I hear not yet the dripping oar,
The surge uncleft yet greets the shore."
The lady gazed.—'Twas the rushing blast,
Like some spirit of might, on the waters pass'd!
Darkly o'er the troubled deep,
Ruder winds the billows sweep;
The lady hath left her lattice bower,—
"Why tarries my love till the midnight hour?"
Swift answer came.—'Twas a shuddering moan,
As her lover's cold corse at her feet was thrown!