Of despair on youth’s high heart—
By the weight of gloom which clings
To the mantle of the night,
By the heavy dawn which brings
Naught lovely to the sight—
By all that from my weary soul thou hast wrung of grief and fear,
Come to me from the ocean’s dead! Awake, arise, appear!”
Was it her yearning spirit’s dream?
Or did a pale form rise,
And o’er the hush’d wave glide and gleam,