sea has thee without me.

"My heart were more cruel than the sea itself, were I to strive to
protract my life any further; and, were I to struggle to survive so
great a misfortune. But I will not struggle, nor, hapless one, will I
abandon thee; and, at least, I will {now} come to be thy companion. And,
in the tomb, if the urn {does} not, yet the inscription[55] shall unite
us: if {I touch} not thy bones with my bones, still will I unite thy
name with my name." Grief forbids her saying more, and wailings come
between each word, and groans are heaved from her sorrow-stricken
breast.

It is {now} morning: she goes forth from her abode to the sea-shore,
and, wretched, repairs to that place from which she had seen him go, and
says, "While he lingered, and while he was loosening the cables, at his
departure, he gave me kisses upon this sea-shore;" and while she calls
to recollection the incidents which she had observed with her eyes, and
looks out upon the sea, she observes on the flowing wave, I know not
what {object}, like a body, within a distant space: and at first she is
doubtful what it is. After the water has brought it a little nearer,
and, although it is {still} distant, it is plain that it is a corpse.
Ignorant who it may be, because it is ship-wrecked, she is moved at the
omen, and, though unknown, would fain give it a tear. "Alas! thou
wretched one!" she says, "whoever thou art; and if thou hast any wife!"
Driven by the waves, the body approaches nearer. The more she looks at
it, the less and the less is she mistress of her senses. And now she
sees it brought close to the land, that now she can well distinguish it:
it is her husband. "'Tis he!" she exclaims, and, on the instant, she
tears her face, her hair, {and} her garments; and, extending her
trembling hands towards Ceyx, she says, "And is it thus, Oh dearest
husband! is it thus, Oh ill-fated one! that thou dost return to me?"

A mole, made by the hand of man, adjoins the waves, which breaks the
first fury of the ocean, and weakens the first shock of its waters. Upon
that she leaped, and 'tis wondrous that she could. She flew, and beating
the light air with her wings newly formed, she, a wretched bird, skimmed
the surface of the water. And, while she flew, her croaking mouth, with
its slender bill, uttered a sound like that of one in sadness, and full
of complaining. But when she touched the body, dumb, and without blood,
embracing the beloved limbs with he