University of Virginia Library

I.

Black was the night—the choaking air
Breath'd heavy and infernal gloom;
Low, deep, as moan of slave's despair,
Within his smother'd living tomb:
But, lull'd upon the couch of dreams,
Dunluce's reckless household lay;
Their souls illum'd with fairy beams,
From Fancy's artificial day:
There was but one that fled from sleep,
The night was kindred with his soul;
He wander'd forth beside the deep,
To hear the dismal breezes roll;
And far away did Owen steal;
But now, as he retrac'd his roaming,
As if beneath a furrowing keel,
He thought he heard the waters foaming.
He listened: no it could not be;
At such a storm-portending season,
No bark would trust that pitching sea,
Whose very calm was treason.
It pass'd away, the mimic sound;
And Owen on his course proceeded;
While winds began to howl around,
Undreaded and unheeded.
And now the clouds began to clash,
And nearer now and nearer:
Then came a momentary flash;
And darkness then was drearer.