I said, and felt I could have willing died,

Had the means of revenge then been supplied.

But again the sun sank swift away,

And twilight attended expiring day.

All nature appears preparing for sleep,

While wakeful alone mine eyelids keep.

But, hark, what's that?—the tramp of horse!

Who hitherward can bend his course?

There's no highroad this way.

'Tis some one who, by yonder light,