The nightingale's sad note in gloom is ringing,
As wails the bride above her lover's grave;
Like Grief above the tomb her tresses wringing,
So gleams the star of evening o'er the wave.
A melancholy haze hangs o'er the ocean;
The rocky cliffs reflect a sallow light--
Such as through cloister'd halls of dim devotion,
The moon-beams pour upon the cloudy night.
Ye rocky heights--ye violet-meads appearing
Once fairer to my gaze than poet's dream--
Now all your golden light to gloom is veering,
And every floweret laves in Lethe's stream.
Hills, valleys, meads, no changes ye are mourning;
'Tis to the hopeless every star appears
Like lamps in dark sepulchral vistas burning--
And every dew-tipp'd flower is gemm'd with tears!
_Stray Leaves; or, Translations from the German Poets_.
* * * * *