Ere ruthless hearts and hands had wrought thee wo,
Thy long dim halls with happiness were rife,
And glad hearts to thy solitudes gave life.
And though nor gladsome voice, nor glancing oar,
Now stir the echoes on thy lake’s green shore,
That lake hath borne full oft the bark where sate
Forms warm with love, and hearts with hope elate,
And young bright eyes have bent with starry gleam
Above the mazy windings of thy stream.
From the dark turret, where the sweet bells swung,