He stood on the rock,

And he looked on the sea, And he said of his false Love, 'My Love, where is she?'

'Have they bought her with bracelets And lured her with gold?

Is her love for her lover

A tale that is told?'

From the crest of the wave,
In the deep of the gulf,
Came a voice that cried, 'Save!
For behold the sea-wolf!'

He stood on the rock,

And he looked on the wave, And he said, 'Oh! St. Ulfrid, Who's this that cries, Save!'

Then arose from the billow,
A head with a crown,
And two hands that divided
The hair falling down.

As the foam in the moonlight
The two hands were fair,
And they put by the tangles
Of sea-weed and hair.

He knew the pale forehead
A spell to his ear
Was the voice that repeated,
'The sea-wolf is here!'

'I come, Love,' he answered; -
At sunrise next day
A fisherman wakened
The Priest in the Bay.

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THE grey sea and the long black land;
And the yellow half-moon, large and low;
And the startled little waves that leap
In fiery ringlets from their sleep,
As I gain the cove with pushing prow,
And quench its speed in the slushy sand.

Then a mile of warm sea-scented beach;
Three fields to cross till a farm appears;
A tap at the pane, the quick, sharp scratch
And blue spurt of a lighted match,

And a voice less loud, through its joys and fears,
Than the two hearts beating each to each!


Round the cape of a sudden came the sea,
And the sun looked over the mountain's rim,
And straight was a path of gold for him,
And the need of a world of men for me.



THEN at the flame a torch fair Hero lit,
And o'er her head anxiously holding it,
Ascended to the roof; and leaning there,
Lifted its light into the darksome air.

The boy beheld, -beheld it from the sea,
And parted his wet locks, and breathed with glee,
And rose, in swimming, more triumphantly.

Smooth was the sea that night, the lover strong,
And in the springy waves he danced along.
He rose, he dipped his breast, he aimed, he cut
With his clear arms, and from before him put
The parting waves, and in and out the air
His shoulders felt, and trailed his washing hair;
But when he saw the torch, oh! how he sprung,
And thrust his feet against the waves, and flung
The foam behind, as though he scorned the sea,
And parted his wet locks, and breathed with glee,
And rose, and panted, most triumphantly!

Arrived at last on shallow ground, he saw
The stooping light, as if in haste, withdraw;
Again it issued just above the door

With a white hand, and vanished as before.
Then rising, with a sudden-ceasing sound.
Of wateriness, he stood on the firm ground,
And treading up a little slippery bank,
With jutting myrtles mixed, and verdure dank,
Came to a door ajar, — all hushed, all blind
With darkness; yet he guessed who stood behind;
And entering with a turn, the breathless boy
A breathless welcome finds, and words that die for joy.




my lover on the sea?

Sailing east, or sailing west?

Mighty Ocean, gentle be,

Rock him into rest!

Let no angry wind arise,

Nor a wave with whitened crest;

All be gentle as his eyes,

When he is caressed!


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