ALEMOOR: A TALE OF THE FIFTEENTH CENTURY.

Sad is the wail that floats o’er Alemoor’s lake,

And nightly bids her gulfs unbottomed quake,

While moonbeams, sailing o’er her waters blue,

Reveal the frequent tinge of blood-red hue.

The water-birds, with shrill discordant scream,

Oft rouse the peasant from his tranquil dream;

He dreads to raise his slow unclosing eye,

And thinks he hears an infant’s feeble cry.—Leyden.