Page:Modern poets and poetry of Spain.djvu/186

140 When the despairing steersman turns

To prayer, instead of skill,

Seeing his bark the ocean spurns

The plaything of its will;

Amid the hoarse and troubled cries

The people raise around,

While shines the sword before their eyes

Of death, to strike them bound;

Ev'n then will I my love's farewell

In that dark hour renew,

And to the winds my sighs shall tell—

Sylvia! my life, Adieu!