Page:Pocahontas, and Other Poems.djvu/210



deep sea took the dead It was a babe

Like sculptur'd marble, pure and beautiful,

That lonely to its yawning gulfs went down.

— Poor cradled nursling — no fond arm was there

To wrap thee in its folds; no lullaby

Came from the green sea-monster, as he laid

His shapeless head thy polished brow beside,

One moment wondering at the beauteous spoil

On which he fed Old Ocean heeded not

This added unit to his myriad dead:

But in the bosom of the tossing ship

Rose up a burst of anguish, wild and loud,

From the vex'd fountain of a mother's love.

— The lost The lost Oft shall her startled dream

Catch the drear echo of the sullen plunge

That whelm'd the uncoffin'd body — oft her eye

Strain wide through midnight's long unslumbering watch,

Remembering how his soft sweet breathing seem'd

Like measur'd music in a lily's cup,