Beating remorseful and loud the [mutable sands] of the seashore.
Fierce in his soul was the struggle and tumult of passions contending;
Love triumphant and crowned, and friendship wounded and bleeding,
Passionate cries of desire, and [importunate pleadings] of duty!
“Is it my fault,” he said, “that the maiden has chosen between us?
Is it my fault that he failed—my fault that I am the victor?”
Then within him there thundered a voice, like the voice of the Prophet:
“It hath displeased the Lord!”—and he thought of David’s transgression,
Bathsheba’s beautiful face, and his friend in the front of the battle!
Shame and confusion of guilt, and abasement and self-condemnation,