On ocean many a weary night,
When heaved the long and solemn sea,
With only waves and stars in sight.
We stole along by aisles of balm,
We furled before the coming gale,
We slept amid the breathless calm,
We flew before the straining sail—
But thou wert lost alas! to me,
And day and night I thought of thee.”
Otho listened to his sister with a cynical frown, guessing all that she suffered by the pain in his own heart.