And there seemed, through the arch of a tide-worn cave

A gleam, as of snow, to pour;

And forth, in watery light,

Moved phantoms, dimly white,

Which the garb of woman bore.

Slowly they moved to the billow side;

And the forms, as they grew more clear,

Seemed each on a tall, pale steed to ride,

And a shadowy crest to rear,

And to beckon with faint hand,