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In youth's spring it was my lot to haunt of the wide earth a spot a spot the which i could not love the less; So lovely was the loneliness of a wild lake, with black rock bound anad the tall pines that tower'd around.

But when the night had thrown her pall upon that spot- at upon all, And the wind would pass me by in it's still melody, my infant spirit would awake to the terror of tht lone lake.

Yet that terror was not fright-but a tremulous delight and feeling udnefin'd springing from a darken'd mind.

Death was in that poison'd wave and in it's gulf a fitting grave for him who thence could solace bring to his dark imagining; whose vild-ring thought could even make an Eden of that dim lake.