And when deep shades o’er earth and ocean brood,
And the heart owns the might of solitude,
Is its low whisper heard?—a note profound,
But wild and startling as the trumpet sound
That bursts, with sudden blast, the dead repose
Of some proud city, storm’d by midnight foes!
Oh! vainly Reason’s scornful voice would prove
That life had nought to claim such lingering love,
And ask if e’er the captive, half unchain’d,
Clung to the links which yet his step restrain’d.