| |
| SHE sat beside the haunted stream | |
| While ’t was crimsoned yet with the sunset beam, | |
| And her long black hair with the wild winds flew, | |
| And her robe was a robe of snowy hue, | |
| And she gazed with sad, dark-glancing eye | 5 |
| Where Mac Caura’s towers rose proud and high. | |
| |
| But sudden that gaze was past, and the one | |
| That sat by the lonely stream was gone; | |
| And aloft, on the misty mountain’s height | |
| Was seen the dark form in snowy white,— | 10 |
| And wild and high, over hill and dale | |
| Was heard the loud cry of the Banshee’s wail. * * * * * | |
| The fen fog fell, and the robe of white | |
| Was dimmer seen on the mountain’s height, | |
| And the long black locks still floated away, | 15 |
| Till the night glooms came as black as they, | |
| And the form at length was in darkness shaded, | |
| And the song at length was in distance faded. | |
| |
| But still the sounds in the listening ear, | |
| With the cool calm gale, were wafted near, | 20 |
| And still the murmuring echoes fell | |
| O’er heath-clad hill and o’er moss-green dell, | |
| And still they sung of woe and grief, | |
| And blood, and death, to Mac Caura’s chief. * * * * * | |
| The day-beam breaks on the green-hill side, | 25 |
| And gleams over hill and river; | |
| And the Saxon’s banner is floating wide, | |
| With the blood of the hapless heroes dyed; | |
| But Mac Caura’s boast and Mac Caura’s pride | |
| Is faded and lost forever. | 30 |
| |
