were some felt willing to oppose,
Yet when their heads came in their heads, that minute,
Though 'twas a piteous _case_, they put her in it.

XIII.

And when the sack was tied, some two or three
Of these black undertakers slowly brought her
To a kind of Moorish Serpentine; for she
Was doom'd to have a winding sheet of water.
Then farewell, earth--farewell to the green tree--
Farewell, the sun--the moon--each little daughter!
She's shot from off the shoulders of a black,
Like bag of Wall's-End from a coalman's back.

XIV.

The waters oped, and the wide sack full-fill'd
All that the waters oped, as down it fell;
Then closed the wave, and then the surface rill'd
A ring above her, like a water-knell;
A moment more, and all its face was still'd,
And not a guilty heave was left to tell
That underneath its calm and blue transparence
A dame lay drowned in her sack, like Clarence.

XV.

But Heaven beheld, and awful witness bore,--
The moon in black eclipse deceased that night,
Like Desdemona smother'd by the Moor--
The lady's natal star with pale afright
Fainted and fell--and what were stars before,
Turn'd comets as the tale was brought to light;
And all looked downward on the fatal wave,
And made their own reflections on her grave.

XVI.

Next night, a head--a little lady head,
Push'd through the waters a most glassy face,
With weedy tresses, thrown apart and spread,
Comb'd by 'live ivory, to show the space
Of a pale forehead, and two eyes that shed
A soft blue mist, breathing a bloomy grace
Over their sleepy lids--and so she rais'd
Her _aqua_line nose above the stream, and gazed.

XVII.

She oped her lips--lips of a gentle blush,
So pale it seem'd near drowned to a white,--
She oped her lips, and forth there sprang a gush
Of music bubbling through the surface light;
The leaves are motionless, the breezes hush
To listen to the air--and through the night
There come these words of a most plaintive ditty,
Sobbing as they would break all hearts with pity:

THE WATER PERI'S SONG.

Farewell, farewell, to my mother's own daughter.
The child that she wet-nursed is lapp'd in the wave;
The _Mussul_man, coming to fish in this water,
Adds a tear to the flood that weeps over her grave.

This sack is her coffin, this water's her bier,
This grayish _bath_ cloak is her funeral pall;
And, stranger, O stranger! this song that you hear
Is her epitaph, elegy, dirges,