One glimmering lamp was expiring and low;
Around, the dark tide of the tempest was swelling,
Along the wild mountains night-ravens were yelling,—
They bodingly presaged destruction and woe.
’Twas then that I started!—the wild storm was howling.
Nought was seen, save the lightning, which danced in the sky;
Above me, the crash of the thunder was rolling,
And low, chilling murmurs, the blast wafted by.
My heart sank within me: unheeded the war
Of the battling clouds, on the mountain-tops, broke;