Light up a low path, by the underbrush hid,
And gild the smooth plate on the coffer’s dull lid.
There are hurrying footsteps and stifled tones
In that lonely ravine of earth and stones;
’Tis the hiding-place of a pirate band,
Who came from a distant, brilliant land,
And their burden of spoils from the broad, high seas
They have borne to that forest of woodland trees,
Where the wild wolf howls in his dismal den
Or makes his home in that pirate’s glen.