But while those evening hymns were sent
Heavenward, one voice of deep lament
And supplication from that sod
Wailed upward to the throne of God.
Wolfe of the Knoll upon the shore,
With searchuig eye, was seen no more ;
No more upon the fitful breeze
His locks of silver rose and fell.
Restless as on those heaving seas
The crested billows sink and swell.
The promised watchman of the night.
That late stood calm on yonder height,
Now on his lowly pallet lies
With breaking heart and burning eyes.
This eve the fatal tidings gave
That Melleff was the heathen's slave.
The pastor, first to learn, must show
The hapless father all his woe.