There ponder o'er some mystic lay, I heard unearthly voices speak, And thought the Wizard Priest was come, To claim again his ancient home! And bade my busy fancy range, To frame him fitting shape and strange, But chief, 'twere sweet to think such life, (Though but escape from fortune's strife,) Something most matchless good, and wise, A great and grateful sacrifice; And deem each hour, to musing given, Yet him, whose heart is ill at ease, Such peaceful solitudes displease: He loves to drown his bosom's jar Amid the elemental war : And my black Palmer's choice had been Some ruder and more savage scene, Like that which frowns round dark Lochskene. There eagles scream from isle to shore; Down all the rocks the torrents roar ; O'er the black waves incessant driven, Away its hurrying waters break, Till down yon dark abyss they hurl. Some demon's subterranean cave, Who, prisoned by enchanter's spell, Shakes the dark rock with groan and yell. And well that Palmer's form and mien Had suited with the stormy scene, Just on the edge, straining his ken To view the bottom of the den, Where, deep deep down, and far within, Marriot, thy harp, on Isis strung, To many a Border theme has rung: Then list to me, and thou shalt know Of this mysterious Man of Woe. |