'Yet moved she not; she only raised
Her lids and on the bright sun gazed,
And uttered such a dreary sigh;
I thought just then she should not die,
Since misery was such misery.
'Now Douglas, for our hunted band,
For future joy and former woe,
Assist me with thy heart and hand
To send to hell my mortal foe.
Her friends fade first, that she may drain
A deeper cup of bitterer pain;
Yonder they stand and watch the waves
Dash in among the echoing caves.
Their farewell sight of earth and sea;
Come, Douglas, rise and go with me.'
·····
The lark sang clearly overhead,
And sweetly hummed the bee;
And softly round their dying bed
The wind blew from the sea.
Fair Surry would have raised her eyes
To see that water shine;
To see once more in mountain skies
The summer sun decline;
But ever on her fading cheek
The languid lid would close,
As weary that such sight should break
Its much-desired repose.
