wide-eyed, as the glory departed. 
’O fair shapes! far fairer than I!  Too fair to be ruthless! 
Gladden mine eyes once more with your splendour, unlike to my fancies;
You, then, smiled in the sea-gleam, and laughed in the plash of the ripple. 
Awful I deemed you and formless; inhuman, monstrous as idols;
Lo, when ye came, ye were women, more loving and lovelier, only;
Like in all else; and I blest you:  why blest ye not me for my worship? 
Had you no mercy for me, thus guiltless?  Ye pitied the sea-boys: 
Why not me, then, more hapless by far?  Does your sight and your knowledge
End with the marge of the waves?  Is the world which ye dwell in not our
world?’

Over the mountain aloft ran a rush and a roll and a roaring;
Downward the breeze came indignant, and leapt with a howl to the water,
Roaring in cranny and crag, till the pillars and clefts of the basalt
Rang like a god-swept lyre, and her brain grew mad with the noises;
Crashing and lapping of waters, and sighing and tossing of weed-beds,
Gurgle and whisper and hiss of the foam, while thundering surges
Boomed in the wave-worn halls, as they champed at the roots of the mountain. 
Hour after hour in the darkness the wind rushed fierce to the landward,
Drenching the maiden with spray; she shivering, weary and drooping,
Stood with her heart full of thoughts, till the foam-crests gleamed in the
twilight,
Leaping and laughing around, and the east grew red with the dawning. 
   Then on the ridge of the hills rose the broad bright sun in his glory,
Hurling his arrows abroad on the glittering crests of the surges,
Gilding the soft round bosoms of wood, and the downs of the coastland;
Gilding the weeds at her feet, and the foam-laced teeth of the ledges,
Showing the maiden her home through the veil of her locks, as they floated
Glistening, damp with the spray, in a long black cloud to the landward. 
High in the far-off glens rose thin blue curls from the homesteads;
Softly the low of the herds, and the pipe of the outgoing herdsman,
Slid to her ear on the water, and melted her heart into weeping. 
Shuddering, she tried to forget them; and straining her eyes to the seaward,
Watched for her doom, as she wailed, but in vain, to the terrible Sun-god. 
   ’Dost thou not pity me, Sun, though thy wild dark sister be ruthless;
Dost thou not pity me here, as thou seest me desolate, weary,
Sickened with shame and despair, like a kid torn young from its mother? 
What if my beauty insult thee, then blight it:  but me—­Oh spare me! 
Spare me yet, ere he be here, fierce, tearing, unbearable!  See me,
See me, how tender and soft, and thus helpless!  See how I shudder,
Fancying only my doom.  Wilt thou shine thus bright, when it takes me? 
Are there no deaths save this, great Sun?  No fiery arrow,
Lightning, or deep-mouthed wave?  Why thus?