|
In youth's spring, it was my lot |
|
To haunt of the wide earth a spot |
|
To which I could not love the less; |
|
So lovely was the loneliness |
|
Of a wild lake, with black rock bound. |
|
And the tall trees that tower'd around. |
|
But when the night had thrown her pall |
|
Upon that spot-- as upon all, |
|
And the wind would pass me by |
|
In its stilly melody, |
|
My infant spirit would awake |
|
To the terror of the lone lake. |
|
Yet that terror was not fright-- |
|
But a tremulous delight, |
|
And a feeling undefin'd, |
|
Springing from a darken'd mind. |
|
Death was in that poison'd wave |
|
And in its gulf a fitting grave |
|
For him who thence could solace bring |
|
To his dark imagining; |
|
Whose wild'ring though could even make |
|
An Eden of that dim lake. |