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But they tore her thence in her wild despair, The sea's fierce rovers—they left him there; They left to the fountain a dark-red vein, And on the wet violets a pile of slain, And a hush of fear thro' the summer-grove,— So clos'd the triumph of youth and love!

III. Gloomy lay the shore that night, When the moon, with sleeping light, Bath'd each purple Sciote hill,— Gloomy lay the shore, and still. O'er the wave no gay guitar Sent its floating music far; No glad sound of dancing feet Woke, the starry hours to greet. But a voice of mortal wo, In its changes wild or low, Thro' the midnight's blue repose, From the sea-beat rocks arose.