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?

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I will not shrink to see thee with a bloodless lip and

cheek

Come to me from the ocean's dead!-thou'rt surely of

them-speak!"

She listened-'twas the wind's low moan,

'Twas the ripple of the wave,
'Twas the wakening ospray's cry alone,
As it started from its cave.

"I know each fearful spell
Of the ancient Runic lay,
Whose mutter'd words compel

The tempest to obey.
But I adjure not thee

By magic sign or song,

My voice shall stir the sea

By love, the deep, the strong!

By the might of woman's tears, by the passion of her

sighs,

Come to me from the ocean's dead-by the vows we

pledg'd-arise!"

Again she gaz'd with an eager glance,
Wandering and wildly bright;

She saw but the sparkling waters dance
To the arrowy northern light.

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By the slow and struggling death

Of hope that loath'd to part,
By the fierce and withering breath

Of despair on youth's high heart;
By the weight of gloom which clings
To the mantle of the night,
By the heavy dawn which brings
Nought lovely to the sight,

By all that from my weary soul thou hast wrung of grief

and fear,

Come to me from the ocean's dead-awake, arise,

appear!"

Was it her yearning spirit's dream,

Or did a pale form rise,

And o'er the hush'd wave glide and gleam,
With bright, still, mournful eyes?

"Have the depths heard?-they have! My voice prevails-thou'rt there,

Dim from thy watery grave,

Oh! thou that wert so fair!

Yet take me to thy rest!

There dwells no fear with love; Let me slumber on thy breast,

While the billows roll above!

Where the long-lost things lie hid, where the bright

ones have their home,

We will sleep among the ocean's dead-stay for me, stay !—I come !”

There was a sullen plunge below,

A flashing on the main,

And the wave shut o'er that wild heart's wo,
Shut--and grew still again.