And Julio fancied of a form that rose
    Before him from the desolate repose
    Of the deep waters—­a huge ghastly form,
    As of one lightning-stricken in a storm;
    And leprosy cadaverous was hung
    Before his brow, and awful terror flung
    Around him like a pall—­a solemn shroud!—­
    A drapery of darkness and of cloud! 
    And agony was writhing on his lip,
    Heart-rooted, awful agony and deep,
    Of fevers, and of plagues, and burning blain,
    And ague, and the palsy of the brain—­
    A wierd and yellow spectre!  And his eyes
    Were orbless and unpupil’d, as the skies
    Without the sun, or moon, or any star: 
    And he was like the wreck of what men are,—­
    A wasted skeleton, that held the crest
    Of Time, and bore his motto on his breast!

    There came a group before of maladies,
    And griefs, and Famine empty as a breeze,—­
    A double monster, with a gloating leer
    Fix’d on his other half.  They drew them near,
    One after one, led onward by Despair,
    That like the last of winter glimmer’d there,—­
    A dismal prologue to his brother Death,
    Which was behind, and, with the horrid breath
    Of his wide baneful nostrils, plied them on. 
    And often as they saw the skeleton
    Grisly beside them, the wild phantasies
    Grew mad and howl’d; the fever of disease
    Became wild frenzy—­very terrible! 
    And, for a hell of agony—­a hell
    Of rage, was there, that fed on misty things,
    On dreams, ideas, and imaginings.

    And some were raving on philosophy,
    And some on love, and some on jealousy,
    And some upon the moon; and these were they
    That were the wildest; and anon alway
    Julio knew them by a something dim
    About their wasted features like to him!

    But Death was by, like shell of pyramid
    Among old obelisks, and his eyeless head
    Shook o’er the wiery ribs, where darkness lay
    The image of a heart—­He is away! 
    And Julio is watching, like Remorse,
    Over the pale and solitary corse!

    Shower soft light, ye stars, that shake the dew
    From your eternal blossoms! and thou, too,
    Moon! minded of thy power, tide-bearing queen! 
    That hast a slave and votary within
    The great rock-fetter’d deeps, and hearest cry
    To thee the hungry surges, rushing by
    Like a vast herd of wolves,—­fall full and fair
    On Julio as he sleepeth, even there,
    Amid the suppliant bosom of the sea!—­
    Sleep! dost thou come, and on thy blessed knee
    With hush and whisper lull the troubled brain
    Of this death-lover?—­Still the eyes do strain
    Their orbs on Agathe—­those raven eyes! 
    All earnest on the ladye as she lies
    In her white shroud.  They see not, though they are
    As if they saw; no splendour like a star
    Is under their dark lashes:  they are full
    Of dream and slumber—­melancholy, dull!