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No weak complaint escap'd her lip, For burning pride suppress'd the sigh;Till far, far off the gallant ship Seem'd fading in the distant sky.
But stretch'd on the lone beach she lay, Watching the slowly fading sail,Till ev'ning wrapp'd in shadows grey The mossy hill, and misty vale.
Pale grew her cheek, more deadly pale! And lustreless her closing eye;And there the moaning midnight gale Receiv'd the Thulean maid's last sigh.
POOR IDA.
"Ah! vain essay, to cheat the heavy hour With music's charms—it cannot, will not be!Too well, alas! this bosom feels thy pow'r, And ev'ry thought concentrates still in thee.
Oh, Henry! shall I never tear thy form From this believing and deluded heart—Still must my soul endure the mental storm, And weep for thee till life itself depart!
