Poems (Young)/Cleena
CLEENA.
Pale, in the twilight, the crested waves are falling On a lone shore where never a sea-bird strays;Softly the twilight wind is calling, calling, Calling for Cleena of the olden days.
Once a thousand lovers sang her praises, Wove her name in chant and storied rann;Cleena, for whose sake the sea-god raises, Wave on wave, his crested foam-white clan.
Gods and heroes once the battle-gear uplifted All for Cleena of the curling, golden head;O'er her beauty now the dust has drifted, The songs are silent, and her lovers dead.
Only where waves in shadowy foam are falling, Falling, falling ever, with a sound of tears,Earth and sea a vanished joy recalling Mourn for Cleena and the long-forgotten years.
Mournful wind, your grief cannot avail her. Sea-foam drifting, drifting through the night—She has peace and silence, why bewail her? Cleena! Cleena! dead, forgotten quite!