The voices buried in old whispery caves,
And by lone river-sources, and amidst
The gloom and mist'ry of dark, prophet-oaks,
The Wood-gods' haunt—they give me no reply!
All silent—heaven and earth!—for ever more
From the deserted mountains thou art gone—
For ever from the melancholy groves,
Whose laurels wail thee with a shivering sound!—
And I—I pine through all the joyous day,
Through the long night I pine,—as fondly pines
The night's own bird, dissolving her lorn life
To song in moonlight woods.—Thou hear'st me not!
The Heavens are pitiless of human tears;
The deep sea-darkness is about thy head;
The white sail never will bring back the loved!
By the blue waters—the restless ocean waters,
Restless as they with their many-flashing surges,
Lonely I wander, weeping for my lost one!
Page:Hemans in Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine 37 1835.pdf/4
