THE WATCHER.
He came not; and the lonely night,
With its dim clouds, gathered near;
And I watched till the aching pang of sight
Was quenched in the glistening tear.
With its dim clouds, gathered near;
And I watched till the aching pang of sight
Was quenched in the glistening tear.
And I list for the distant sound and low,
Of the oar on the ocean wave;
For there is a calm on the waters now,
As deep as the silent grave.
Of the oar on the ocean wave;
For there is a calm on the waters now,
As deep as the silent grave.
Yet I hear no sound but my own heart-beat
Throb on the midnight air;
And the one wild wish that we may meet,
Is hushed in a voiceless prayer.
Throb on the midnight air;
And the one wild wish that we may meet,
Is hushed in a voiceless prayer.
Oh, maiden! why dost thou tarry there?
Hath the wave no tale for thee!
Hath the wave no tale for thee!
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