ear,
On whose lone verge the foaming billows roar;
The wail of hopeless sorrow pierc'd his ear,
And swell'd at distance on the sounding shore.

The mourner breath'd her deep complaint to night,
Her moan she mingled with the rapid blast;
That bar'd her bosom in its wasting flight,
And o'er the earth her scatter'd tresses cast!

"Ye winds, she cried, still heave the lab'ring deep,
"The mountain shake, the howling forest rend;
"Still dash the shiv'ring fragment from the steep,
"Nor for a wretch like me the storm suspend.

"Ah, wherefore wish the rising storm to spare?
"Ah, why implore the raging winds to save?
"What refuge can the breast where lives despair
"Desire but death? what shelter but the grave?

"To me congenial is the gloom of night,
"The savage howlings that infest the air;
"I unappall'd can view the fatal light,
"That flashes from the pointed lightning's glare.

"And yet erewhile, if night her shadows threw
"O'er the known woodlands of my native vale;
"Fancy in visions wild the landscape drew,
"And swelled with boding sounds the whisp'ring gale.

"But deep despair has arm'd my timid soul,
"And agony has numb'd the throb of fear;
"Taught a weak heart its terrors to controul,
"And more to court than shun the danger near.

"Yet could I welcome the return of light,
"Its glim'ring beam might guide my searching eye,
"The sacred spot might then emerge from night,
"On which a lover's bleeding relicks lie!

"For sure 'twas here, as late a shepherd stray'd
"Bewilder'd, o'er the mountain's dreary bound,
"Close to the pointed cliff he saw him laid,
"Where heav'd the waters of the deep around.

"Alas, no longer could his heart endure
"The woes that heart was doom'd for me to prove:
"He sought for death--for death the only cure,
"That fate can give to vain, and hopeless love."

"My sire, unjust, while passion swell'd his breast,
"From the lov'd Alfred his Euphelia tore;
"Mock'd the keen sorrows that my soul opprest,
"And bade me, vainly bade me love no more!

"He told me love, was like yon' troubled deep,
"Whose restless billows never know repose;
"Are wildly dash'd upon the rocky steep,
"And tremble to the lightest breeze that blows!

"From these rude storms remote, her gentle balm,
"Dear to the suff'ring spirit, peace applies"--
Peace! 'tis th' oblivious lake's detested calm
Whose dull, slow waters never fall or rise.

"Ah, what avails a parent