The lights they fled—the cauldron sunk,
Deep thunders shook the dome,
And hollow peals of laughter came
Resounding through the gloom.
Insensible the maiden lay
Upon the hellish ground,
And still mysterious sounds were heard
At intervals around.
She woke—she half arose—and wild
She cast a horrid glare,
The sounds had ceased, the lights had fled,
And all was stillness there.
And through an awning in the rock
The moon it sweetly shone,
And show'd a river in the cave
Which dismally did moan.
The stream was black, it sounded deep
As it rush'd the rocks between,
It offer'd well, for madness fired
The breast of Gondoline.
She plunged in, the torrent moan'd
With its accustom'd sound,
And hollow peals of laughter loud
Again rebellow'd round.
The maid was seen no more.—But oft
Her ghost is known to glide,
At midnight's silent, solemn hour,
Along the ocean's side.
A BALLAD.
Be hush'd, be hush'd, ye bitter winds,
Ye pelting rains, a little rest;
Lie still, lie still, ye busy thoughts,
That wring with grief my aching breast.
Oh! cruel was my faithless love,
To triumph o'er an artless maid;
Oh! cruel was my faithless love,
To leave the breast by him betray'd.