X.

But not her words, nor e’en her tears, could slack
  The quicklime of his rage, that hotter grew: 
He call’d his slave to bring an ample sack
  Wherein a woman might be poked—­a few
Dark grimly men felt pity and look’d black
  At this sad order; but their slaveships knew
When any dared demur, his sword so bending
Cut off the “head and front of their offending.”

XI.

For Ali had a sword, much like himself,
  A crooked blade, guilty of human gore—­
The trophies it had lopp’d from many an elf
  Were struck at his head-quarters by the score—­
Not yet in peace belaid it on the shelf,
  But jested with it, and his wit cut sore;
So that (as they of Public Houses speak)
  He often did his dozen butts a week.

XII.

Therefore his slaves, with most obedient fears,
  Came with the sack the lady to enclose;
In vain from her stag-eyes “the big round tears
  Coursed one another down her innocent nose”;
In vain her tongue wept sorrow in their ears;
  Though there were some felt willing to oppose,
Yet when their heads came in their heads, that minute,
Though ’twas a piteous case, they put her in it.

XIII.

And when the sack was tied, some two or three
  Of these black undertakers slowly brought her
To a kind of Moorish Serpentine; for she
  Was doom’d to have a winding sheet of water. 
Then farewell, earth—­farewell to the green tree—­
  Farewell, the sun—­the moon—­each little daughter! 
She’s shot from off the shoulders of a black,
Like bag of Wall’s-End from a coalman’s back.

XIV.

The waters oped, and the wide sack full-fill’d
  All that the waters oped, as down it fell;
Then closed the wave, and then the surface rill’d
  A ring above her, like a water-knell;
A moment more, and all its face was still’d,
  And not a guilty heave was left to tell
That underneath its calm and blue transparence
A dame lay drowned in her sack, like Clarence.

XV.

But Heaven beheld, and awful witness bore,—­
  The moon in black eclipse deceased that night,
Like Desdemona smother’d by the Moor—­
  The lady’s natal star with pale afright
Fainted and fell—­and what were stars before,
  Turn’d comets as the tale was brought to light;
And all looked downward on the fatal wave,
And made their own reflections on her grave.

XVI.

Next night, a head—­a little lady head,
  Push’d through the waters a most glassy face,
With weedy tresses, thrown apart and spread,
  Comb’d by ’live ivory, to show the space
Of a pale forehead, and two eyes that shed
  A soft blue mist, breathing a bloomy grace
Over their sleepy lids—­and so she rais’d
Her aqualine nose above the stream, and gazed.