The Complaint of Ninathoma
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. Thro' the high-sounding halls of Cathlóma In the steps of my beauty I stray'd; The warriors beheld Ninathóma, And they blessèd the white-bosomed 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 disturbed 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.
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