While o’er him as he lay, half-mazed in a magic sweven,
The black pine-branches hovered like torn clouds hung in heaven.
Day stood upon the moor; and the wailing voice, withdrawn,
Sighed o’er the sobbing harp-strings, and died in the wind of dawn.
THE BRIDE’S BRACELET
The King went forth at dawning
To watch the turn of the tide:
“Be still, my soul, be still!
To-day shall bring the bride.
“Sea-gull, oh sea-gull,
Stay thy shifting wings!
Hast seen the ship a-sailing,
My love that brings?
“The ship with sails of scarlet
Where threads of gold entwine—
With maids and merry minstrels,
And gifts of mine,
“A veil for her head, and a girdle,
And a bracelet all of gold,
Wrought by a cunning craftsman
With labours manifold.”
The King went forth at even
To watch the silver web
Woven by wavering moonbeams
Over the tide at ebb.
“Oh nights are short in summer!
She will come to me soon;
To-morrow at dawn of day
Or at height of noon.”
Oh the sea grew hoary and grey
At the turn of the year;
The fire of the whin was faded,
The heather was brown and sere.