Anna and Harland

Within these wilds was Anna wont to rove

While Harland told his love in many a sigh,

But stern on Harland roll'd her brother's eye,

They fought, they fell—her brother and her love!

To Death's dark house did grief-worn Anna haste,

Yet here her pensive ghost delights to stay;

Oft pouring on the winds the broken lay—

And hark, I hear her—'twas the passing blast.

I love to sit upon her tomb's dark grass,

Then Memory backward rolls Time's shadowy tide;

The tales of other days before me glide:

With eager thought I seize them as they pass;

For fair, tho' faint, the forms of Memory gleam,

Like Heaven's bright beauteous bow reflected in the stream.