Chapter XXVII

When winds its murmuring bosom cease to wake
Through bright transparent waves you may discern
On the hard, pebbled bottom of the lake
Skulls changed to stone:--when fires no longer burn
Kindled by sunset, and the glistening urn
Of night o'erflows with dew the phantoms pale
Of matron, maid, child, seer and chieftain stern
Their ghastly faces to the moon unveil,
And raise upon the shore a low heart-broken wail.