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A BALLAD. ' FROM THE OERMAN, THE oak-forest groan'd, and the hoarse, hollow blast Shook its old lofty boughs, as it sullenly past; And the'tempest-wing'd clouds, sailing swiftly on high, Obscur'd the pale moon, as she rode thro' the sky. On the river's lone margin a maiden reclined, Gazed intent on the wave, that was chafed with the wind; Fast.fast fell the tears from her once beaming eyes On her poor, throbbing breast, torn with sorrow and sighs. Oh, why does the maiden repair here to weep, When mortals forget their soul's sorrow in sleep? Why still does she gaze on the wild-heaving wave ? There her heart with her lover lies lock'd in the grave ! ......... ?GooBIe
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