"The bittern clamour'd from the moss,

The wind blew loud and shrill;

Yet the craggy pathway she did cross,

To the eiry Beacon Hill.

"I watch'd her steps, and silent came

Where she sat her on a stone;—

No watchman stood by the dreary flame,

It burned all alone.

"The second night I kept her in sight,

Till to the fire she came,