Than thus, an exile from the world, in such a waste obscure,
Deatli threatening in each rising gale, with patience to endure
Privation, labor, loneliness, no witness to applaud,
Save his own conscience and the eye, all-seeing, of his God.
The autumn wind, that mournfully had sighed all day, sobbed
still
More loudly and grew passionate as night's gray shadows
fell.
Low mist-like clouds rolled rapidly over the evening sky,
And a yet darker mask was seen through their thin drapery.
So thick that neither moon nor stars could pierce it with a
ray,
Nor through its heavy folds had shot one beam of parting
day.
Like a tired beast of prey, for hours the sluggish sea had
slept,
And scarce would heed the driving winds that o'er its bosom
swept.
Seite:Marsh Wolfe of the knoll.djvu/89
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