midnight
There was neither answer nor human form . Jacopo compressed the handle of his oar with fingers of iron , and his own breathing caused him to start . On every side he bent a frenzied eye , and on every side he beheld the profound repose of that treacherous element which is so terrible in its wrath . Like the human heart , it seemed to sympathize with the tranquil beauty of the midnight view ; but , like the human heart , it kept its own fearful secrets . `` Yet a few days and dream-perturbed nights , And I shall slumber well -- but where ? -- no matter . Adieu , my Angiolina . ''