Turn'd comets as the tale was brought to light;
And all looked downward on the fatal wave,
And made their own reflections on her grave.
XVI.
Next night, a head—a little lady head,
Push'd through the waters a most glassy face,
With weedy tresses, thrown apart and spread,
Comb'd by 'live ivory, to show the space
Of a pale forehead, and two eyes that shed
A soft blue mist, breathing a bloomy grace