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The heavy weight of waters prest
The mighty monarch's mouldering breast,
The giant chief, the sceptred hand,
The lip that pour'd the loud command;
The blooming cheek—the sparkling eye,
Now shrouded in the sea-weed lie.
But still the pensive stranger spread
Her white wing o'er that Ocean dread,
And oft her anxious eye she cast
Across that dark and shoreless waste.
For evening clad the skies in gloom,
And warn'd her of her distant home.
The stars that gemm'd the brow of night
Glanc'd coldly on her wavering flight,
In tears, the moon with trembling gleam
Withdrew her faint and faded beam,
And o'er that vast and silent grave
Was spread the dark and boundless wave.
With beating heart, and anxious ear,
She strove some earthly sound to hear,
In vain—no earthly sound was near.
It seem'd the world's eternal sleep
Had settled o'er that gloomy deep,
Nor slightest breath her bosom cheer'd.
Her own soft wings alone she heard.
But still that fearful dove preserv'd,
With unabating care,
