 | Redwald |  |
“Hold! hold! too cruel—too unkind!
“No longer doubt a constant mind;
“Which, since it lov'd thee first, has known
“No joy, but in thy sight alone!—
“Without a pause I'll all resign,
“My hand—my heart—my fate is thine!”
Whose was that shriek—and whose that cry,
The spirits of the night, who fly
O'er Ocean's sad and ruffled breast,
On Mona's shadowy mounts to rest,
Alone can tell!—
“No longer doubt a constant mind;
“Which, since it lov'd thee first, has known
“No joy, but in thy sight alone!—
“Without a pause I'll all resign,
“My hand—my heart—my fate is thine!”
18
The spirits of the night, who fly
O'er Ocean's sad and ruffled breast,
On Mona's shadowy mounts to rest,
Alone can tell!—
A mist of grey
Has warn'd the stars to haste away;
Their sparkling forms so slowly fade,
And lose their lustre in its shade,
That ling'ring fondly o'er the sky,
The sun advances 'ere they die.
Has warn'd the stars to haste away;
Their sparkling forms so slowly fade,
And lose their lustre in its shade,
That ling'ring fondly o'er the sky,
The sun advances 'ere they die.
| Redwald | |