Henry Kirke White (1785–1806)

SO ravishingly soft upon the tide

Of the infuriate gust it did career,

It might have soothed its rugged charioteer,

And sunk him to a zephyr, then it died,

Melting in melody, and I descried,

Borne to some wizard stream, the form appear

Of Druid sage, who on the far-off ear

Poured his lone song, to which the surge replied;

Or thought I heard the hapless pilgrim’s knell,

Lost in some wild enchanted forest’s bounds,

By unseen beings sung; or are these sounds

Such as, ’t is said, at night are known to swell

By startled shepherd on the lonely heath,

Keeping his night-watch sad, portending death!