 | Poems |  |
24
SONG.
[The clouds gather fast, and the oak-forests roar]
The clouds gather fast, and the oak-forests roar,The maid to and fro walks along the green shore,
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And sadly and lonely she sings to the night;
Her blue eyes discolour'd with weeping.
“My heart's dead within me, the world is a void,
“Which nought more can yield to be wish'd or enjoy'd:
“Thou holy One, summon thy weary child home!
“I've liv'd and I've lov'd, now forsaken I roam,
“And sigh for the grave's quiet sleeping!”
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