"On Dᴏᴠᴇ’s green brink the fair Tʀᴇᴍᴇʟʟᴀ stood, And view’d her playful image in the flood; To each rude rock, lone dell, and echoing grove Sung the sweet sorrows of her 𝘴𝘦𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘵 love. ‘Oh, stay!—return!’—along the sounding shore Cry’d the sad Naiads,——she return’d no more!— Now girt with clouds the sullen Evening frown’d, And withering Eurus swept along the ground; The misty moon withdrew her horned light, And sunk with Hesper in the skirt of night; No dim electric streams, (the northern dawn,) With meek effulgence quiver’d o’er the lawn; No star benignant shot one transient ray To guide or light the wanderer on her way. Round the dark craggs the murmuring whirlwinds blow, Woods groan above, and waters roar below; As o’er the steeps with pausing foot she moves, The pitying Dryads shriek amid their groves; She flies,—she stops,—she pants—she looks behind, And hears a demon howl in every wind. —As the bleak blast unfurls her fluttering vest, Cold beats the snow upon her shuddering breast; Through her numb’d limbs the chill sensations dart, And the keen ice bolt trembles at her heart. ‘I sink, I fall! oh, help me, help!’ she cries, Her stiffening tongue the unfinish’d sound denies; Tear after tear adown her cheek succeeds, And pearls of ice bestrew the glittering meads; Congealing snows her lingering feet surround, Arrest her flight, and root her to the ground; With suppliant arms she pours the silent prayer; Her suppliant arms hang crystal in the air; Pellucid films her shivering neck o’erspread, Seal her mute lips, and silver o’er her head, Veil her pale bosom, glaze her lifted hands, And shrined in ice the beauteous statue stands. —Dᴏᴠᴇ’s azure nymphs on each revolving year For fair Tʀᴇᴍᴇʟʟᴀ shed the tender tear; With rush-wove crowns in sad procession move, And sound the sorrowing shell to hapless love."