The hermit came, and by the dying wave
Lone wander’d, and he found upon the sand,
Below a truss of sea-weed, with his hand
Around the silent waist of Agathè
The corse of Julio! Pale, pale, it lay
Beside the wasted girl. The fireless eye
Was open, and a jewell’d rosary
Flung round the neck; but it was gone—the cross
That Agathè had given.
Amid the moss