A swarm of bells from that old tower o’erhead,
  They sent their message sifting through the boughs
Of cedars; when they ceased his lady said,
  “Pray you forgive me,” and her lovely brows
She lifted, standing in her moonlit place,
And one short moment looked him in the face.

Then straight he cried, “O sweetheart, think all one
  As no word yet were said between us twain,
And know thou that in this I yield to none—­
  love thee, sweetheart, love thee!” So full fain,
While she did leave to silence all her part,
He took the gleaming whiteness to his heart—­

The white-robed maiden with the warm white throat,
  The sweet white brow, and locks of umber flow,
Whose murmuring voice was soft as rock-dove’s note,
  Entreating him, and saying, “Do not go!”
“I will not, sweetheart; nay, not now,” quoth he,
“By faith and troth, I think thou art for me!”

And so she won a name that eventide,
  Which he gave gladly, but would ne’er bespeak,
And she became the rough sea-captain’s bride,
  Matching her dimples to his sunburnt cheek;
And chasing from his voice the touch of care,
That made her weep when first she heard it there.

One year there was, fulfilled of happiness,
  But O! it went so fast, too fast away. 
Then came that trouble which full oft doth bless—­
  It was the evening of a sultry day,
There was no wind the thread-hung flowers to stir,
Or float abroad the filmy gossamer.

Toward the trees his steps the mariner bent,
  Pacing the grassy walks with restless feet: 
And he recalled, and pondered as he went,
  All her most duteous love and converse sweet,
Till summer darkness settled deep and dim,
And dew from bending leaves dropt down on him.

The flowers sent forth their nightly odors faint—­
  Thick leaves shut out the starlight overhead;
While he told over, as by strong constraint
  Drawn on, her childish life on shipboard led,
And beauteous youth, since first low kneeling there,
With folded hands she lisped her evening prayer.

Then he remembered how, beneath the shade,
  She wooed him to her with her lovely words,
While flowers were closing, leaves in moonlight played,
  And in dark nooks withdrew the silent birds. 
So pondered he that night in twilight dim,
While dew from bending leaves dropt down on him.

The flowers sent forth their nightly odors faint—­
  When, in the darkness waiting, he saw one
To whom he said—­“How fareth my sweet saint?”
  Who answered—­“She hath borne to you a son;”
Then, turning, left him,—­and the father said,
“God rain down blessings on his welcome head!”

But Margaret!—­she never saw the child,
  Nor heard about her bed love’s mournful wails;
But to the last, with ocean dreams beguiled,
  Murmured of troubled seas and swelling sails—­
Of weary voyages, and rocks unseen,
And distant hills in sight, all calm and green....