As if at random flung to a chance gale,
Uncheck'd, unguided, flapp'd a silken sail;
And saw they all alone a lady there,
Her neck and arms to the rude sea-wind bare,
And her head bow'd as in its last despair.
It came no nearer, on the sea it lay;
The wind, exhausted, had died quite away.
They had a fairy boat, in which 't was sport
Amid the inland channels to resort;
Their fair hands raised the sail, and plied the oar,
And brought the lonely wanderer to their shore;
Then mark'd they how her scarlet mantle's fold
Was round a young, a lovely infant roll'd.
They brought the wearied stranger to their tent,
Flung o'er her face cool water, gifted scent,
And touch'd her lips with wine, though all too plain
That death was darkening in each frozen vein:
