Full rose the watery moon: it showed a plank,
To which, all deadly pale, with tresses dank,
And robes of white, on which the sea had flung
Loose wreaths of ocean-flowers, unconscious clung
A fair frail form:—‘twas Irza!—to the shore
Each following wave the virgin nearer bore;
And now the mountain surge overwhelmed the land,
Then flying left her on the wished-for strand.
Soon hope and love of life her powers renew;
Swift towards a cliff she speeds, which towers in view,