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Only the sliding of the wave
Beneath the plank, and feel so near
A cold and lonely grave,
A restless grave, where thou shalt lie
Even in death unquietly?

Look down beneath thy wave-worn bark,

Lean over the side and see

The leaden eye of the sidelong shark Upturned patiently,

Ever waiting there for thee: Look down and see those shapeless forms,

Which ever keep their dreamless sleep

Far down within the gloomy deep, And only stir themselves in storms, Rising like islands from beneath, And snorting through the angry spray, As the frail vessel perisheth In the whirls of their unwieldy play; Look down! Look down! Upon the seaweed, slimy and dark, That waves its arms so lank and brown, Beckoning for thee!

Look down beneath thy wave-worn bark

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These are Irené's dowry, which no fate Can shake from their serene, deepbuilded state.

In-seeing sympathy is hers, which


No less than loveth, scorning to be bound

With fear of blame, and yet which ever hasteneth

To pour the balm of kind looks on the wound,

If they be wounds which such sweet teaching makes, Giving itself a pang for others' sakes; No want of faith, that chills with sidelong eye,

Hath she; no jealousy, no Levite pride That passeth by upon the other side; For in her soul there never dwelt a lie. Right from the hand of God her spirit


Unstained, and she hath ne'er forgotten whence

It came, nor wandered far from thence, But laboreth to keep her still the same, Near to her place of birth, that she may not Soil her white raiment with an earthly spot.

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