His slumber undisturb'd by fear,
Far from the haunts of men.

"Beneath the fern the moorcock sleeps,
And twisted adders lie;
Back to his rock the night-bird creeps,
Nor gives his wonted cry.

"For angry spirits of the night
Ride in the troubled air,
And to their dens, in wild affright,
The beasts of prey repair.

"But oh! my love! where do'st thou rest?
What shelter covers thee?
O, may this cold and wint'ry blast
But only beat on me!

"Some friendly dwelling may'st thou find,
Where, undisturb'd with care,
Thou shalt not feel the chilly wind
That ruffles Marg'ret's hair.

"Ah, no! for thou did'st give thy word
To meet me on the way;
Nor friendly roof, nor coastly board
Will tempt a lover's stay.

"O, raise thy voice, if thou art near!
Its weakest sound were bliss: