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Down, down, down,
Deep down in the green sea,
Glaucus in the sluggish tide
From side to side
Sways wearily.

Shells are gleaming in his hair,
Tangle swathes each sodden limb,
With a stedfast, stony stare,
Corpse-like through the waters dim,
His eyeballs glare.
Hark! there comes a shuddering sigh—
“Woe, woe to him who may not die!

“Ariadne, where is she?
Scylla?—Scylla!—Woe is me
For the love that wrought her doom!
Gazing, far off, through the gloom,
When the waves were thick with storm,
I have seen her hideous form—
Direst monster of the sea!
Oh, misery,
Through love of mine that this should be!”

Then he riseth stern and slow,
Floateth, Fate-like, o'er the main,
With evermore the same sad strain—
“Woe, woe,
Woe unto all that breathe below!”
Where vine-clad isles
Dimple the ocean's face with smiles,
And by the mainland's sunny shore,
That boding voice sounds evermore—
“Woe, woe,
Woe unto all that breathe below!
Ye live and hope—despair and die—
Thus happier in your doom than I—
Woe, woe to him who may not die!