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.
 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.