XXXIV.

And wet, and cold, and lifeless at her feet, Pale as the foam that frothed on his dead brow, Which she essayed in vain to clear, (how sweet Were once her cares, how idle seemed they now!) Lay Juan, nor could aught renew the beat Of his quenched heart: and the sea dirges low Rang in her sad ears like a Mermaid's song, And that brief dream appeared a life too long.