Of tranquil life, a creature darkly bright,
Decking her hair again with many a wreath,
Walking amid the high wood's gentle night,
Charming her wild, old Father's heart with strange delight.
Yet nought could make her cease to view with love,
The tender memory of the mournful past;
And once when warring clouds grew black above,
The shrieking Earth with awful night o'ercast,
And long foiled Hatred hoped to glut his fast
With English gore, with irksome steps she stole,