By the meager approach of a weak, wailing sound,
Which on the night air at intervals rose,
Growing faint and fainter as the evening chill
Crept over the landscape so somber and still.
Whence comes that faint cry so plaintive and thrilling,
That dies on the air at each waft of the breeze?
Why creeps o’er my heart this sensation so chilling,
As I listen enchained ’mid the rustle of trees?
At length all is quiet but the night-watch’s tread,
So I hasten beside him, and tell him my dread.