While the night in wondrous beauty
O'er the softened landscape lay,
She came forth, with noiseless footstep
Moving 'mid the shadows gray,
Gazing ever towards the summit,
Where the gleam of scarf and plume
Faded in the hazy distance,
Leaving her to prayer and gloom.
Years, by her unmarked, unnumbered,
Crossed the dial-plate of Time;
Then she passed, one quiet midnight,
To the unseen Spirit-Clime.
But the twilight has departed,
And the moon is up on high;
Stranger, pass not, in thy journey,
Yon deserted court-yard by;
For it is whispered that, at evening,
Oft a misty form is seen,
In its silent progress casting
Not a shadow on the green,
'Neath the iron cross that standeth
On the mouldering wall and rude,
Like a noble thought uplifted
In the Past's deep solitude.
MY NATIVE ISLE.
My native isle! my native isle!
For ever round thy sunny steep
The low waves curl, with sparkling foam,
And solemn murmurs deep;
While o'er the surging waters blue
The ceaseless breezes throng,
And in the grand old woods awake
An everlasting song.