and anon,
    Julio heard them, rushing one by one,
    And laugh’d and turn’d.—­The hermit was away,
    For he was old and weary, and he lay
    Within his cave, and thought it was a dream,
    A summer’s dream? and so the quiet stream
    Of sleep came o’er his eyelids, and in truth
    He dreamt of that strange ladye, and the youth
    That held a death-wake on her wasting form;
    And so he slept and woke not, till the storm
    Was over.

               But they came,—­the wind and sea,
    And rain and thunder, that in giant glee,
    Sang o’er the lightnings pale, as to and fro
    They writhed, like stricken angels!—­White as snow
    Roll’d billow after billow, and the tide
    Came forward as an army deep and wide,
    To charge with all its waters.  There was heard
    A murmur far and far, of those that stirr’d
    Within the great encampment of the sea,
    And dark they were, and lifted terribly
    Their water-spouts like banners.  It was grand
    To see the black battalions, hand in hand
    Striding to conflict, and their helmets bent
    Below their foamy plumes magnificent!

    And Julio heard and laugh’d, “Shall I be king
    To your great hosts, that ye are murmuring
    For one to bear you to your holy war? 
    There is no sun, or moon, or any star,
    To guide your iron footsteps as ye go;
    But I, your king, will marshal you to flow
    From shore to shore.  Then bring my car of shell,
    That I may ride before you terrible;
    And bring my sceptre of the amber weed,
    And Agathe, my virgin bride, shall lead
    Your summer hosts, when these are ambling low,
    In azure and in ermine, to and fro.” 
    He said, and madly, with his wasted hand,
    Swept o’er the tuneless harp, and fast he spann’d
    The silver chords, until a rush of sound
    Came from them, solemn—­terrible—­profound;
    And then he dash’d the instrument away
    Into the waters, and the giant play
    Of billows threw it back unto the shore,
    A shiver’d, stringless frame—­its day of music o’er! 
    The tide, the rolling tide! the multitude
    Of the sea surges, terrible and rude,
    Tossing their chalky foam along the bed
    Of thundering pebbles, that are shoring dread,
    And fast retreating to the gloomy gorge
    Of waters, sounding like a Titan forge!

    It comes! it comes! the tide, the rolling tide! 
    But Julio is bending to his bride,
    And making mirthful whispers to her ear. 
    A cataract! a cataract is near,
    Of one stupendous billow, and it breaks
    Terribly furious, with a myriad flakes
    Of foam, that fly about the haggard twain;
    And Julio started, with a sudden pain,
    That shot into his heart; his reason flew
    Back to its throne; he rose,