She twirled the string of golden beads,
That round her neck was hung,—-
My grandsire's gift; the good old man
Loved girls when he was young;
And, bending lightly o'er the cord,
And turning half away,
With something like a youthful sigh,
Thus spoke the maiden gray:—

"Well, one may trail her silken robe,
And bind her locks with pearls,
And one may wreathe the woodland rose
Among her floating curls;
And one may tread the dewy grass,
And one the marble floor,
Nor half-hid bosom heave the less,
Nor broidered corset more!

"Some years ago, a dark-eyed girl
Was sitting in the shade,—
There's something brings her to my mind
In that young dreaming maid,—
And in her hand she held a flower,
A flower, whose speaking hue
Said, in the language of the heart,
'Believe the giver true.'

"And, as she looked upon its leaves,
The maiden made a vow
To wear it when the bridal wreath
Was woven for her brow;
She watched the flower, as, day by day,
The leaflets curled and died;
But he who gave it never came
To claim her for his bride.

"Oh, many a summer's morning glow
Has lent the rose its ray,
And many a winter's drifting snow
Has swept its bloom away;
But she has kept that faithless pledge
To this, her winter hour,
And keeps it still, herself alone,
And wasted like the flower."

Her pale lip quivered, and the light
Gleamed in her moistening eyes;—
I asked her how she liked the tints
In those Castilian skies?
"She thought them misty,—'t was perhaps
Because she stood too near;"
She turned away, and as she turned
I saw her wipe a tear.

A sailor leaned o'er the vessel's side,
And gazed in the rippling sea—
"Christ save us!" said he, and started back,
"A shark swims under the lee."

His comrades looked close under the lee,
With a fixed and glassy stare;
They saw a fin and a glittering back
Now sink, and now rise in air.

Ho! bait a strong line, the captain cried,
Then muttered a passing curse;
For the greedy shark still followed on,
Like mourner the gloomy herse.

All day, all night, the daintiest bait
Towed close to the shark's fell jaw—
"He follows the ship, and not the bait!"
"Yet," quoth Ned, "he'll fill his maw."

The sick man lay on his restless bed,
A fever had scorched his brain;
While the hot blood gushed in lava tides,
And hissed through each bursting vein.

Black Edward leaned o'er the sick man's bed,
And glared on his enemy;
His head, like a coiléd snake, he bent—
"A shark swims under the lee!"

Great God, but it was a fearful thing
To hear the poor sufferer rave!
To see the red flushes come and go,
Like sun-beams over the wave!

And ever he muttered in low tones
Of the bitterest agony,
While his heart boomed like a tolling bell,
"A shark swims under the lee!"

He bounded up from his narrow bed,
And fell on his bended knee;
"Christ save me," cried he, and loudly wept,
"From the shark under the lee!"

Black Edward laughed o'er the vessel's side
As the sun set bloody red;
The shark lept up as for very joy—
Quoth one, "The sick man is dead."

They poised the corse o'er the rushing waves;
Alas! how their spirits sank!
"Don't throw him," they cried, "to yonder shark!"
Black Ned kicked over the plank.

With a bound sprang forth the greedy shark,
And his horrid jaws upraised,
He tore the shroud like a rotten rag—
The crew in pale horror gazed.

He dragged the torn body from the shroud,
And the sea was red with gore—
"God shield us!" they cried, and closed their eyes;
But the shark was ne'er seen more.