Of tranquil life, a creature darkly bright,
Decking her hair again with many a wreath,
Walking amid the high wood's gentle night,
Charming her wild, old Father's heart with strange delight.

Yet nought could make her cease to view with love,
The tender memory of the mournful past;
And once when warring clouds grew black above,
The shrieking Earth with awful night o'ercast,
And long foiled Hatred hoped to glut his fast
With English gore, with irksome steps she stole,
O'er deep morass, through tangled brake, and cast
The boon of life to each devoted soul,
Who slept within that Castle's frail and weak control.

Oh! we might marvel that her savage heart,
Would show such love to her loved father's foes;
But love like this, will act no selfish part;
Over drear earth, diffusing joy, it goes,
Its breath the fragrance of the earliest rose,
Its voice the sound of an unearthly thing,
Its form an Angel's, and as pure as those,
Who come to gladdened man on shining wing,
Which scatters round the sweets of an immortal spring.

Now when the dogwood gemmed with blossoms white,
The gorgeous grove where oak and stately pine,
Upthrew their gnarled arms of massy might,
And thus a leafy canopy did twine,
This dusky Dryad would with grace recline,