Page:Felicia Hemans in The New Monthly Magazine Volume 14 1825.pdf/15

The New Monthly Magazine, Volume 14, Pages 259-260

ULLA, OR THE ADJURATION.

"Thou 'rt gone! thou 'rt slumbering low
    With the sounding seas above thee,
It is but a restless woe,
    But a haunting dream to love thee!
Thrice the glad swan has sung
    To greet the sunny hours,
Since thine oar at parting flung
    The white spray up in showers.

There 's a shadow of the grave on thy hearth and round thy home,

Come to me from the ocean's dead!—thou 'rt surely of them—come!"

'Twas Ulla's voice!—alone she stood
    In the Iceland summer night,
Far gazing o'er a glassy flood,
    From a dark rock's beetling height.

"I know thou hast thy bed
    Where the sea-weed's coil hath bound thee.
The storm sweeps o'er thy head,
    But the depths are hush'd around thee!