VI.

No gallant knight, adventurous, in his bark,
Will seek the fruitful perils of the place,
To rouse with dipping oar the waters dark
That bear that serpent image on their face.
And Love, brave Love! though he attempt the base,
Nerved to his loyal death, he may not win
His captive lady from the strict embrace
Of that foul Serpent, clasping her within
His sable folds--like Eve enthrall'd by the old Sin.


VII.

But there is none--no knight in panoply,
Nor Love, intrench'd in his strong steely coat:
No little speck--no sail--no helper nigh,
No sign--no whispering--no plash of boat:--
The distant shores show dimly and remote,
Made of a deeper mist,--serene and gray,--
And slow and mute the cloudy shadows float
Over the gloomy wave, and pass away,
Chased by the silver beams that on their marges play.


VIII.

And bright and silvery the willows sleep
Over the shady verge--no mad winds tease