How long will ye round me be swelling,
       &nbspO ye blue-tumbling waves of the sea?
Not always in caves was my dwelling,
       &nbspNor beneath the cold blast of the tree.
Through the high-sounding halls of Cathlóma
       &nbspIn the steps of my beauty I strayed;
The warriors beheld Ninathóma,
       &nbspAnd they blesséd the white-bosom'd Maid!
A Ghost! by my cavern it darted!
       &nbspIn moon-beams the Spirit was drest—
For lovely appear the Departed
       &nbspWhen they visit the dreams of my rest!
But disturb'd by the tempest's commotion
       &nbspFleet the shadowy forms of delight—
Ah cease, thou shrill blast of the Ocean!
       &nbspTo howl through my cavern by night.