Classic Poem

She sought her chamber in yon spectral keep
With ivy wreaths now crowned;
Whose casket rent
By Time's grim hand and strewn by fragments round,
Once held a jewel whose rare beauty lent
Its light to cheer the sailors toiling on the deep.

Her vestal lamp she nightly trimmed and fed,
A beacon light more true
Than stars above;
For darkness only made the light it threw
More bright--bless'd, too, as emblem of her love
For those who else might make Hell's caves their last lone bed.

"Hist! Hist!" They'd cry: and straight the plash of oar,
And creak of sail were stilled;
And every ear
Was tent to catch the strains her sweet voice trilled.
Avast to gloomy thoughts and boding fear!
Alack the day when she should witch their hearts no more!