CLIONA OF THE ROCK.1
BY HENRY GRATTAN CURRAN.
The night clouds gathered o'er me; anguish preyed
Upon my sinking spirit—forth I strayed,
'Till by a lonely fort I came—and there
Stood darkly brooding o'er my soul's despair;
When lo! revealed before my dazzled eyes,
Girt with the gushing radiance of the skies,
A nymph appeared;—exuberant and bright,
In sable lustre, o'er her brow of light
Fell the dark tresses, whose descending flow
Mantled the maiden's steps with tremulous glow.
She touched the harp—and, oh! the answering sound
That floated from the throbbing chord around!
Oh never yet could earthly feeling win
From harp such voice to pour its fervor in,
As trembled to that touch:—the song had ceased.
And scarce the etherial beam those fingers graced.
