“And on a shelving rock is seen,
“Enwrapp’d in a shroud of sea-weed green,
“A noble corse, whose marble brow
“Is cluster’d with locks of auburn hue;
“And even in death, his manly form
“Seems to mock the rage of the northern storm.
“In his hand is clasp’d a jewel rare
“Enshrining a lock of black, black hair:
“And on his cold breast, near his heart, is display’d
“A golden gift of the dark-ey’d maid.
“The lovely Eltha’s smiles are fled,
“And she wildly looks o’er the ocean-bed
“With sunken glance and a pale, pale cheek,
“And her once bounding step is slow and weak;
“On the wave she launches the blue sea-shell
“Which swims for a moment then sinks in the swell
“And wilder’d she bends o’er the chrystal billow
“As it eddying whirls to its coral pillow:
“She fancys a faëry bark is sped
“To bring her cold love from the land of the dead;
“But no tears on her sunken eye-lids quiver,
“Her reason is fled for ever!—for ever!—”
De Mowbray’s soft harp ceas’d the mournful strain
But awaken’d the broken notes once again,
like the throb of the heart strings when dying they sever,
They stop—thrill—stop—and are silent for ever.
Alpha.
September, 1827.
[[360], [361]] Tynemouth castle and priory, which stand together on a bleak promontory.
[362] Keep to the wind, &c. This line is a technical description of the sails of a vessel when contending against the wind.—αλφα.