"Hush, hush ! thou blue and billowy sea,
Against the shore, oh, beat not so !
For in my dreams thou troublest me ;
I do not love to hear thy flow.
Thy foaming waves with blood are red ;
And Death upon my shore thou'st led.
But late, a youth here bleeding lay,
I made his grave with roses gay ;
For he was like −− well know whom !
I'll bring her home, when spring doth bloom.
They tell me that my bride doth rest
In earth, — that o'er her faithful breast
The green sod grows ; — Oh, no ! herself
Last night upon that rocky shelf
I saw, pale as they paint the dead,
But that was from the moonbeam's light. —
O'er lip and cheek a chillness spread,
'Twas from the cold wind of the night. —
I prayed the lovely shape to stay ;
She laid her finger on my brow