The Complaint of Ninathóma

How long will ye round me be swelling,
O ye blue-tumbling waves of the sea?
Not always in caves was my dwelling,
Nor beneath the cold blast of the tree.
Through the high-sounding halls of Cathlóma
In the steps of my beauty I strayed;
The warriors beheld Ninathóma,
And they blesséd the white-bosom'd Maid!
A Ghost! by my cavern it darted!
In moon-beams the Spirit was drest--
For lovely appear the Departed
When they visit the dreams of my rest!
But disturb'd by the tempest's commotion
Fleet the shadowy forms of delight--
Ah cease, thou shrill blast of the Ocean!
To howl through my cavern by night.