Page:Verses–Blanche·Baughan-1898.pdf/136

 Rent the thick-webbed air; the sharp black isles, The beacon Castle, were not; close in shore, Dark bladderwrack, the strong tide’s thrall, thrust up Her million nodding and exultant heads; Nothing else moved.

And now the clammy calm, The waves’ gasp, and the stealthy swathing mist, Wrought upon Leon like the sense of Death. He paus’d upon the midway sand, secrete, Alone; in the dim silence Morgan’s words Burst lurid on his mind, a sinister glare, And lit the one thought—Death. “Fool! fool!” he cried; A savage laughter took him. “From the sea Love was to rise? Out of the sea, forsooth, My bride was coming? Oh, a fair conceit, Kind Queen! a riddle plain to rede! Ay, thee, Rising at last to rid me of life’s hate,