Before my eyes. Upon a beetling rock
That overhung the sea—a cliff, whose crags throbbed in the ocean’s shock —
Ægéus stood and gazed athwart the wave.
Then I remembered me how Thésëus swore
(Such was his tale to me,) that, ere he sailed from Athens’ sorrowing shore,
Hopefully trusting in the awful gods,
If he returned, his canvas, changed to white,
Should mark his triumph, but did raven sails meet Athens’ weeping sight,
Then he had fallen. How the old man gazed,
With moistened eyes, toward the horizon’s verge,