But, ah! too soon that dream is past— Again, again her fear returns;— Night, dreadful night, is gathering last, More faintly the horizon burns, And every rosy tint that lay On the smooth sea hath died away. Hastily to the darkening skies A glance she casts—then wildly cries “_At night_, he said—and, look, ’tis near— “Fly, fly—if yet thou lov’st me, fly— “Soon will his murderous band be here, “And I shall see thee bleed and die.— “Hush! heard’st thou not the tramp of men “Sounding from yonder fearful glen?— “Perhaps e’en now they climb the wood— “Fly, fly—though still the West is bright, “He’ll come—oh! yes—he wants thy blood— “I know him—he’ll not wait for night!” In terrors e’en to agony She clings around the wondering Chief;— “Alas, poor wilder’d maid! to me “Thou ow’st this raving trance of grief. “Lost as I am, nought ever grew “Beneath my shade but perish’d too— “My doom is like the Dead Sea air, “And nothing lives that enters there! “Why were our barks together driven “Beneath this morning’s furious heaven? “Why, when I saw the prize that chance “Had thrown into my desperate arms,— “When, casting but a single glance “Upon thy pale and prostrate charms, “I vow’d (though watching viewless o’er “Thy safety through that hour’s alarms) “To meet the’ unmanning sight no more— “Why have I broke that heart-wrung vow? “Why weakly, madly met thee now?— “Start not—that noise is but the shock “Of torrents through yon valley hurl’d— “Dread nothing here—upon this rock “We stand above the jarring world, “Alike beyond its hope—its dread— “In gloomy safety, like the Dead! “Or, could e’en earth and hell unite “In league to storm this Sacred Height, “Fear nothing thou—myself, to-night, “And each o’erlooking star that dwells “Near God will be thy sentinels;— “And, ere to-morrow’s dawn shall glow, “Back to thy sire⸺” “To-morrow!—no—” The maiden scream’d—“thou’lt never see “To-morrow’s sun—death, death will be “The night-cry through each reeking tower, “Unless we fly, ay, fly this hour! “Thou art betray’d—some wretch who knew “That dreadful glen’s mysterious clew— “Nay, doubt not—by yon stars, ’tis true— “Hath sold thee to my vengeful sire; “This morning, with that smile so dire “He wears in joy, he told me all, “And stamp’d in triumph through our hall, “As though thy heart already beat “Its last life-throb beneath his feet! “Good Heaven, how little dream’d I then “His victim was my own lov’d youth!— “Fly—send—let some one watch the glen— “By all my hopes of heaven ’tis truth!”