Chapter 15 No.15

"Sleep, sleep, thou sad one, on the sea;

The wash of waters lulls thee now;

His arm no more will pillow thee,

Thy hand upon his brow;

He is not near, to hurt thee, or to save:

The ground is his--the sea must be thy grave."

DANA.

A long summer's evening did the body of Francesco Caraccioli hang suspended at the yard-arm of the M