Gently he moved her off, and drew her back,
Bending his lofty head far over hers,
And the dark depths of nature heaved and burst:
He turned away: not far, but silent still:
She now first shuddered; for in him—so nigh,
So long a silence seemed the approach of death
And like it. Once again, she raised her voice,—
‘O Father! if the ships are now detained
And all your vows move not the Gods above
When the knife strikes me, there will be one prayer