78 THE FABLES OF FLORA. 



In this dim cave, of different creed, 



A hermit's holy ashes rest: 

 The school-boy finds the frequent bead. 



Which many a formal matin blest. 



That truant-time full well I know, 

 When here I brought, in stolen hour. 



The Druid's magic Misletoe, 



The holy hermit's Passion-flower. 



The offerings on the mystic stone 

 Pensive I laid, in thought profound. 



When from the cave a deepening groan 

 Issued, and froze me to the ground. 



I hear it still — Dost thou not hear? 



Does not thy haunted fancy start? 

 The sound still vibrates through mine ear- 



The horror rushes on my heart. 



