I STOOD beside the waters and at night-
The voice of thousands now at last was still;
Silent the streets, and the wan moon's pale light
Fell silently upon the waters chill.

I, the lone lingerer by the lonely hill:

The stars wept night-dews, and the fitful blast,

Whispering of other years, beside me moan'd and pass'd.

II.

I leant and mused. Beneath the midnight sky,

Stretch'd in dim outline, rose those turrets gray : Like wave-worn monuments, where passers by Linger, and dream of ages pass'd away,

They stood in silence. Strangely wild were they;

For Silence hath unto herself a spell:

She hath a siren voice; and like the play

Of winds on crystal waters, she can tell

Of regions all her own, where dream-like fancies dwell.

III.

And led by her I dreamt, and saw, methought,
The time when yonder waters roll'd between
No walls and granite turrets, but, untaught,

Through the oak forest and the woodland green
Flow'd, kissing every floweret.
Wild the scene:

For Britons roam'd along the tangled shore

With happy hearts, and bold unfearing mien ;

Their war-songs sang they the blue waters o'er,

In all things Freedom's children, hers erelong no more.

IV.

Heard ye the eagle swooping? Nursed in pride,

Rome's blood-stain'd armies sought these shores, and flung

Her tyrant banners o'er the reckless tide:

The waves dash'd on, but bitter chains were hung
Round freemen's necks: a nation's heart was wrung!

Few, few, and weary, see them wending slow,

Fair girls and hoary warriors, old and young,

To brave an exile's lot, and exile's woe,

Far from their native hearths on Cambria's wilds of snow.

V.

Then rose, as legends tell, yon turrets, piled

By the proud victor to enchain the free;

Swiftly they rose, — but oh! when morning smiled First on those towers from out the golden sea, Where Rome's proud eagle, Britain, mock'd at thee, Who could have guess'd the dark and wondrous story Of things that have been there and yet shall be? Written too oft in letters deeply gory

A captive's tale of tears, yet bright with deeds of glory.

VI.

Like one who bending o'er the waves that sleep 'Mid Tyre's old fabled battlements descries

Their faint dim outline in the silent deep,1

Till in the shadowy light before his eyes

Dome after dome begins erelong to rise; Thus the far landscape of the past we scan,

And wondrous seem and dark its mysteries, Till truth hath lit Time's strangely-pictured plan, And ah! yet stranger still, the passionate heart of man.

VII.

And when I stood beside that hoary pile

Its legends rose like phantoms of the tomb: Spell-bound I linger'd there, and mused awhile On every tower and spirit-haunted room ; Mused o'er the cells of Hope's untimely doom,

1 The ruins of Tyre are said to be seen under the waves.

And the yet drearier vaulted caves below,

Where heaven's pure light ne'er trembled through the

gloom;

Some with their tale of wonder, some of woe

Here where the heart might throb, and there where tears might flow.

VIII.

Methought I saw two happy children lying,
Lock'd in each other's arms, at dead of night,
Peace smiled beside, but Love stood o'er them sighing:
And I heard stealthy footsteps treading light-

List! steps of murderers? - never! for that sight
Must break a heart of marble: yet 'tis done, —
Low smother'd groans too truly told aright

As one they lived and loved, they died as one—

None there to save them? weeping Echo answers, " None.”

IX.

Yet childhood is a sunny dream, and we

Can scarcely mourn when it doth pass away