Victoria

'Twas dead of the night, when I sat in my dwelling; One glimmering lamp was expiring and low; Around, the dark tide of the tempest was swelling, Along the wild mountains night-ravens were yelling,-- They bodingly presaged destruction and woe.

'Twas then that I started!--the wild storm was howling, Nought was seen, save the lightning, which danced in the sky; Above me, the crash of the thunder was rolling, And low, chilling murmurs, the blast wafted by.

My heart sank within me--unheeded the war Of the battling clouds, on the mountain-tops, broke;-- Unheeded the thunder-peal crashed in mine ear-- This heart, hard as iron, is stranger to fear; But conscience in low, noiseless whispering spoke.

'Twas then that her form on the whirlwind upholding, The ghost of the murdered Victoria strode; In her right hand, a shadowy shroud she was holding, She swiftly advanced to my lonesome abode.

I wildly then called on the tempest to bear me--'