Classic Poem

Oh , dark and nameless! I have gazed on thee
Until the silent dweller in thy shrine
Was to my heart no more a mystery,
And in each wildly traced and fading sign
There was a spell for spirits such as mine;
The very winds around me seemed the tone
Of an unearthly voice at day's decline,
Breathing the legend of the lonely stone.

I linger'd o'er the silent characters
Of a forgotten language darkly gone
With those who traced them to their sepulchres,
Until it seemed their shadowy lore was won:
The mystery of the dead! and dreams came on
In fearful beauty, such as might not last—
The lineage—deeds—of that departed one—
His life—his love—a moment, they were past!

Did'st thou come proudly o'er the ocean foam
To the lone Island of the storms, to reign
A northern Sea-king in thy desert home,
The dark usurper of the trackless main,
Whose proud heart yielded in the Pagan fane,
Spelled by their runic rites and mystic force,—
But when far sweeping on the waves again,
What power might check the wild marauder's course?

Or woke thy spirit in this lonely Isle
First to the light—child of the wilderness—
Free as its stormy waters, by the smile
Of sunbeams seldom blest (not loved the less
For all their tempests)? Was it thine to press
With the first wind of morn, amid the still
And shadowy mists, from thy lone cave's recess
To wake the red deer on their silent hill?

Tired Hunter of the Isle! thy chace is past;
Dark Ruler of the Waters! we can trace
No shadow of thy course o'er ocean cast;
It is forgotten like thy resting place!
Where is the legend of thy name or race?
Far in the mist of ages, Time has shed
Oblivion o'er thy glory or disgrace;
We know but this—thy rest is with the dead!