"Ah! round me lies a desert vast,
No habitation near;
And dark and pathless is the waste,
And fills the mind with fear
"Thou distant tree, whose lonely top
Has bent to many a storm,
No more canst thou deceive my hope,
And take my lover's form;
"For o'er thy head the dark cloud rolls,
Black as thy blasted pride.
How deep the angry tempest growls
Along the mountain's side!
"Securely rests the mountain deer
Within his hollow den,
His slumber undisturb'd by fear,
Far from the haunts of men.
"Beneath the fern the moorcock sleeps,
And twisted adders lie;
Back to his rock the night-bird creeps,
Nor gives his wonted cry.
"For angry spirits of the night
Ride in the troubled air,
And to their dens, in wild affright,
The beasts of prey repair.
"But oh! my love! where do'st thou rest?
What shelter covers thee?
O, may this cold and wint'ry blast
But only beat on me!
"Some friendly dwelling may'st thou find,
Where, undisturb'd with care,
Thou shalt not feel the chilly wind
That ruffles Marg'ret's hair.
"Ah, no! for thou did'st give thy word
To meet me on the way;
Nor friendly roof, nor coastly board
Will tempt a lover's stay.
"O, raise thy voice, if thou art near!
Its weakest sound were bliss:
What other sound my heart can cheer
In such a gloom as this?