LEON
Held honey yet; the voice was not a man’s,
And he began to wonder if the fog
Held very Venus with some royal maid.
At such fair prospect, Death he clean forgot,
And on the hard, wet sand abiding, peer’d
Hither and thither. By-and-by, a swell
Of glossy water quell’d the bladderwrack,
With a loud sudden splash striking the shore;
But scarce he heard it, for this time the voice
Cried almost at his car: “Ho! Ector’s son,
Where art thou?” And with widening eyes, he said,
“Here, Queen!”
Mocking she laugh’d, mocking she look’d,
Face to his face, and breath upon his cheek—
No Venus, no, nor queen, but a fish-girl
Brown and bare-neck’d, with ankles in the sea,
Her girded dress, bright limbs, and heavy hair,
That, dark and gleaming like sea-ribbon, clung
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