and sadly Enoch answer’d her;

‘His head is low, and no man cares for him.          850

I think I have not three days more to live;

I am the man.’ At which the woman gave

A half-incredulous, half-hysterical cry.

‘You Arden, you! nay,—sure he was a foot

Higher than you be.’ Enoch said again          855

‘My God has bow’d me down to what I am;

My grief and solitude have broken me;

Nevertheless, know you that I am he

Who married—but that name has twice been changed—

I married her who married Philip Ray.          860

Sit, listen.’ Then he told her of his voyage,

His wreck, his lonely life, his coming back,

His gazing in on Annie, his resolve,

And how he kept it. As the woman heard,

Fast flow’d the current of her easy tears,          865

While in her heart she yearn’d incessantly

To rush abroad all round the little haven,

Proclaiming Enoch Arden and his woes;

But awed and promise-bounden she forebore,

Saying only ‘See your bairns before you go!          870

Eh, let me fetch ’em, Arden,’ and arose

Eager to bring them down, for Enoch hung

A moment on her words, but then replied:

‘Woman, disturb me not now at the last,

But let me hold my purpose till I die.          875

Sit down again; mark me and understand,

While I have power to speak. I charge you now,

When you shall see her, tell her that I died

Blessing her, praying for her, loving her;

Save for the bar between us, loving her          880

As when she laid her head beside my own.

And tell my daughter Annie, whom I saw

So like her mother, that my latest breath

Was spent in blessing her and praying for her.

And tell my son that I died blessing him.          885

And say to Philip that I blest him too;

He never meant us any thing but good.

But if my children care to see me dead,

Who hardly knew me living, let them come,

I am their father; but she must not come,          890

For my dead face would vex her after-life.

And now there is but one of all my blood,

Who will embrace me in the world-to-be:

This hair is his: she cut it off and gave it,

And I have borne it with me all these years,          895

And thought to bear it with me to my grave;

But now my mind is changed, for I shall see him,

My babe in bliss: wherefore when I am gone,

Take, give her this, for it may comfort her:

It will moreover be a token to her,          900

That I am he.’

                  He ceased; and Miriam Lane

Made such a voluble answer promising all,

That once again he roll’d his eyes upon her

Repeating all he wish’d, and once again          905

She promised.

                Then the third night after this,

While Enoch slumber’d motionless and pale,

And Miriam watch’d and dozed at intervals,

There came so loud a calling of the sea,          910

That all the houses in the haven rang.

He woke, he rose, he spread his arms abroad

Crying with a loud voice ‘a sail! a sail!

I am saved’; and so fell back and spoke no more.

  So past the strong heroic soul away.          915

And when they buried him the little port

Had seldom seen a costlier funeral.