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Updated: June 11, 2025
Linger not, the night is nearing; Bear me downwards to the strand, Where my ships are idly steering Off and on, in sight of land." Every whispered word obeying, Swift we bore him down the steep, O'er the deep, Up the tall ship's side, low swaying To the storm-wind's powerful sweep, And his dead companions laying Round him, we had time to weep.
Then Cedric said, 'I seek the fate to know'. And the witch laughed, and gazed on him and sang: 'Fashioned in the shadow-land, Out into darkness hurled; Trusted to the Storm-wind's hand, By the Passion-tempest whirled! Ever straining, Never gaining, Never keeping, Young or old! Whither going Never knowing, Wherefore weeping, Never told!
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