From The Same

How long will ye round me be swelling, O ye blue-tumbling waves of the sea? Not always in caves was my dwelling, Nor beneath the cold blast of the tree. Through the high-sounding halls of Cathlóma In the steps of my beauty I strayed; The warriors beheld Ninathóma, And they blesséd the white-bosom'd Maid! A Ghost! by my cavern it darted! In moon-beams the Spirit was drest-- For lovely appear the Departed When they visit the dreams of my rest! But disturb'd by the tempest's commotion Fleet the shadowy forms of delight-- Ah cease, thou shrill blast of the Ocean! To howl through my cavern by night.

1793.