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When she sees him, straightway feels sheWondrous, new, confused sensationsIn her inmost, deepest being;Fain she'd linger o'er the vision,Then repels it,--it returneth,--And, perplex'd, she bends her flood-wardsWith uncertain hands to draw it;But, alas, she draws no more!For the water's sacred billowsSeem to fly, to hasten from her;She but sees the fearful chasmOf a whirlpool black disclosed.

The marvel it lasts till the dawning of day;All people who hear of it doubtless will say:

Down falls the houses' line,Where now is thine or mine?That bundle yonder is not thine,Thou flying maiden mine!