Down to the Hebrus from the hills of Thrace,
And tore him limb from limb: but still the tongue,
As the wild current rolled the head along,
Called on “Eurydice”; and till the sea
Received it, bank to bank returned “Eurydice”!
Pardon, my Master, if I’ve dared re-think
A thought, or, standing on the outer brink
Of a deep pool, would with a pebble thrown
Measure your depth of feeling by my own.
But You the cause, the tempter;—who could read