I meet thy pensive, moonlight face; Thy thrilling voice I hear; And former hours and scenes retrace, Too fleeting, and too dear! Then sighs and tears flow fast and free, Though none is nigh to share; And life has nought beside for me So sweet as this despair. There are crush'd hearts that will not break; And mine, methinks, is one; Or thus I should not weep and wake, And thou to slumber gone. I little thought it thus could be In days more sad and fair-- That earth could have a place for me, And thou no longer there. Yet death cannot our hearts divide, Or make thee less my own: 'Twere sweeter sleeping at thy side Than watching here alone. Yet never, never can we part, While Memory holds her reign: Thine, thine is still this wither'd heart Till we shall meet again. _H. F. Lyte_ CCXXV _LORD ULLIN'S DAUGHTER_ A Chieftain to the Highlands bound Cries 'Boatman, do not tarry! And I'll give thee a silver pound To row us o'er the ferry!' 'Now who be ye, would cross Lochgyle, This dark and stormy water?' 'O I'm the chief of Ulva's isle, And this, Lord Ullin's daughter. 'And fast before her father's men Three days we've fled together, For should he find us in the glen, My blood would stain the heather. 'His horsemen hard behind us ride-- Should they our steps discover, Then who will cheer my bonny bride, When they have slain her lover?' Out spoke the hardy Highland wight, 'I'll go, my chief, I'm ready: It is not for your silver bright, But for your winsome lady:-- 'And by my word! the bonny bird In danger shall not tarry; So though the waves are raging white I'll row you o'er the ferry.' By this the storm grew loud apace, The water-wraith was shrieking; And in the scowl of Heaven each face Grew dark as they were speaking. But still as wilder blew the wind, And as the night grew drearer, Adown the glen rode arméd men, Their trampling sounded nearer. 'O haste thee, haste!' the lady cries, 'Though tempests round us gather; I'll meet the raging of the skies, But not an angry father.' The boat has left a stormy land, A stormy sea before her,-- When, oh! too strong for human hand The tempest gather'd o'er her. And still they row'd amidst the roar Of waters fast prevailing: Lord Ullin reach'd that fatal shore,-- His wrath was changed to wailing. For, sore dismay'd, through storm and shade His child he did discover:-- One lovely hand she stretch'd for aid, And one was round her lover. 'Come back! come back!' he cried in grief 'Across this stormy water: And I'll forgive your Highland chief, My daughter!--Oh, my daughter!'