"Her brow is like the snaw-drift,
Her throat is like the swan;
Her face it is the fairest,
That e'er the sun shone on.
And dark blue is her e'e—"
All along the deck the listeners seemed to catch breath and hold it in deep suspense till the voice began again. Then, as if in wonder and in awe of the spell which it cast, the little pure-throated tone came still more softly over the people on the deck and seemed to touch their tense figures with a strange gentleness which relieved their strain and relaxed them as they listened. Head after head bent forward and those side by side turned to each other unconsciously.
"Like dew on th' gowan lying,
'Is th' fa' o' her fairy feet,
And like winds in summer sighing,
Her voice is low and sweet—"
It had come once again with a catch of the breath, very softly and sweetly, and—as the
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