--"Oh me! the worm, at last,
Will gorge upon me, and the autumn blast
Howl by!--Where?--where?--there is no worm to creep
Amid the waters of the lonely deep;
But I will take me Agathe upon
This sorrowful, sore bosom, and anon,
Down, down, through azure silence, we shall go,
Unepitaph'd, to cities far below;
Where the sea triton, with his winding shell,
Shall sound our blessed welcome. We shall dwell
With many a mariner in his pearly home,
In bowers of amber weed and silver foam,
Amid the crimson corals; we shall be
Together, Agathe! fair Agathe!--
But thou art sickly, ladye--thou art sad;
And I am weary, ladye--I am mad!
They bring no food to feed us, and I feel
A frost upon my vitals, very chill,
Like winter breaking on the golden year
Of life. This bark shall be our floating bier,
And the dark waves our mourners; and the white,
Pure swarm of sunny sea birds, basking bright
On some far isle, shall sorrowfully pour
Their wail of melancholy o'er and o'er,
At evening, on the waters of the sea,--
While, with its solemn burden, silently,
Floats forward our lone bark.
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