And fate seemed to hurry the hurricane on
Where rocked on the billows a rudderless bark.
When Neptune, near morning, the billows had bound
And stars hung in heaven like spangles of gold,
Deep down in the regions of silence profound
A form, faintly human, lay lifeless and cold.
But where, oh ye winds, is the maniac-maiden?
And what of love’s hopes that so often have lied?
Let us trust she arrived at the red hunter’s Aiden
And greeted the warrior awaiting his bride.