ULLA, OR THE ADJURATION.
227
There's a shadow of the grave on thy hearth, and round thy home;
Come to me from the ocean's dead!—thou'rt surely of them—come!"
'Twas Ulla's voice—alone she stood
In the Iceland summer night,
Far gazing o'er a glassy flood,
From a dark rock's beetling height.
"I know thou hast thy bed
Where the sea-weed's coil hath bound thee;
The storm sweeps o'er thy head,
But the depths are hush'd around thee.
What wind shall point the way
To the chambers where thou'rt lying?
Come to me thence, and say
If thou thought'st on me in dying?
