I saw sink in a bloody sea.
It smells of blood yet by the strand
And blood there is upon my hand.”
Such was his plaint on Sota’s shore,
Where yet he stands at break of day,
At night-fall will not go away,
But lingers weeping as before.
One morning saw him lifeless there,
His hands clasped upward as in prayer,
While on his cheeks the last tears lie,