The Maid of the Rock

I SAT out one eve, with intention to roam, To the Rock, where the surges wantonly play, When the owl had stol'n out from his secret home, And bright-vested Hesperus clos'd in the day. The moon was at full, and with dignity rose, And tissu'd with silver the green-mantl'd seas, The God of the ocean was gone to repose, And Aeolus fann'd with a whispering breeze.

On reaching the cave where old legends report, And many a sorrowful tale has been sung, Where blood-hunting robbers have oft held their court, On each side was some vestige of chivalry hung; My eyes were alarm'd on beholding a maid, Who, near to the cavern, sat silent in grief, Her head on her hand all in sorrow was laid, A hard rocky pillow was all her relief.

She started with fear, and she fain would have fled, I begg'd her to stay and her sorrows relate, Then told her, from me, she had nothing to dread, That I was sent there by the order of fate,— You came by the order of one, she reply'd, Who has done all she can to distract my poor mind, O'er-whelm'd in the deep, my dear William, my pride, Then sunk, and she gave her last breath to the wind!