UNSHRIVEN 



Ere the mists of evening gather'd chill and 



grey ; 

 But the wild bird's merry note on the deaf 

 ear never smote, 

 And the sunshine never warm'd the lifeless 

 clay. 



Ere the sun began to droop, or the mist began 

 to stoop, 

 The youthful bride lay swooning in the 

 hall; 

 Empty saddle on his back, broken bridle 

 hanging slack. 

 The steed returned full gallop to the stall. 



Oh ! the sun sank in the sea, and the wind 

 wailed drearilie ; 

 Let the bells in yonder monastery toll, 

 For the night wrack nestles dark round the 

 body stiff and stark. 

 And unshriven to its Maker flies the soul. 



