104 HENRY KIRKE WHITE S POEMS. 



Full oft she vainly tried to pierce 



The ocean's misty face ; 

 Full oft she thought her lover's hark 



She on the wave could trace. 



And every night she placed a light 

 In the high rock's lonely tower, 



To guide her lover to the land, 



Should the murky tempest lower. 



But now despair had seized her breast, 



And sunken in her eye : 

 *' Oh ! tell me but if Bertrand live, 



And I in peace will die." 



She wander'd o'er the lonely shore, 

 The curlew scream'd above, 



She heard the scream with a sickening heart. 

 Much boding of her love. 



Yet still she kept her lonely way, 



And this was all her cry : 

 *< Oh ! tell me but if Betrand live, 



And 1 in peace shall die.'' 



And now she came to a horrible rift 



All in the rock's hard side, 

 A bleak and blasted oak o'erspread 



The cavern yawning wide ; 



And pendant from its dismal top 

 The deadly night-shade hung, 



The hemlock, and the aconite. 



Across the mouth were flung. 



And all within was dark and drear. 



And all without was calm, 

 Yet Gondoline entered, her soul upheld 



By some deep-working charm. 



