Page:Modern reciter.pdf/4

 'I dream'd of my lady, I dreamed of her shroud,' Cried a voice from the kinsmen, all wrathful and loud; 'And empty that shroud and that coffin did seem; Glenara! Glenara! now read me my dream!'

Oh! pale grew the cheek of the chieftain I ween; When the shroud was unclosed, and no body was seen; On a rock of the ocean fair Ellen did seem:

Glenara! Glenara! now read me my dream!'

In dust low the traitor has knelt to the ground, And the desert reveal'd where his lady was found; From a rock of the ocean that beauty is borne; Now joy to the house of fair Ellen of Lorn! Campbell.

a drum was heard, not a funeral note, As his corse o'er the ramparts we hurried; Not a soldier discharged his farewell shot, O'er the grave where our hero was buried.

We buried him darkly at dead of night, The sods with our bayonets turning,