THE SPECTRE-LIKE TREE.
I
Under the spectre-like yew,
Spreading its boughs o'er the heath,
Sat the lone Banshee; I knew
Her wail was the herald of death!
'Twas not a summons for me—
When she wept under the spectre-like tree.
II
Wildly my lover I sought,
Scar'd by that desolate wail.
Smiling he came—yet I thought
Ne'er had I seen him so pale;
Oh! how it shock'd me to see,
Why she wept under the spectre-like tree!
III
Now he is laid on his bier,
Far from all sorrow and pain,
And it would please me to hear
The voice of the Banshee again.
Come with a summons to me,
Come to weep under the spectre-like tree!
