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Between the moaning of the mountain stream

And the hoarse thunder of the Atlantic deep,

An outcast from the peaceful realms of sleep

I lie, and hear as in a fever-dream

The homeless night-wind in the darkness scream

And wail around the inaccessible steep

Down whose gaunt sides the spectral torrents leap

From crag to crag, - till almost I could deem

The plaided ghosts of buried centuries

Were mustering in the glen with bow and spear

And shadowy hounds to hunt the shadowy deer,

Mix in phantasmal sword-play, or, with eyes

Of wrath and pain immortal, wander o'er

Loved scenes where human footstep comes no more.