“And empty that shroud and that coffin did seem;
Glenara! Glenara! now read me my dream!”
Oh! pale grew the cheek of that chieftain, I ween,
When the shroud was unclosed and no lady was seen;
When a voice from the kinsmen spoke louder in scorn,—
’Twas the youth who had loved the fair Ellen of Lorn,—
“I dreamt of my lady, I dreamt of her grief;
I dreamt that her lord was a barbarous Chief;
On a rock of the ocean fair Ellen did seem;