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 Thy lavish wealth; but I am none. My nets Were spread for spoil far richer.”

“What is that? Will it content you? For my father seeks, He says, a richer spoil, honours and lands, And never hath eno’; I in my Sea Find rich contentment. Will your spoil suffice?” “Ay! for ’tis Death!” he said.

At that dark word, Flat fell her cheek as the undimpled waves. Leon himself, at something in her look, Shrank from the dismal thought. Now first it seem’d Harsher to die than live, nay, life was sweet, Death terrible. What sudden rising sun Made such a sharp division, light from dark, Dawn on his twilight spirit?