His vessel to its side. A blasted bough,
Sole remnant of the cedar’s giant pride,
He caught—it fell—the billow urged them on,
And high above the rushing waters’ moan
Sounded her shriek—as o’er the dashing waves
They entered that wild chasm.
They were seen
No more; nor when the sunny morn looked forth,
Was trace e’er found of that ill-fated pair,
The maiden and the murderer. Some have said