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Who watches on the mountain with the dead, Alone before the awfulness of night?— A seer awaiting the deep spirit's might? A warrior guarding some dark pass of dread? No, a lorn woman!—On her drooping head, Once proudly graceful, heavy beats the rain; She recks not—living for the unburied slain, Only to scare the vulture from their bed.

So, night by night, her vigil hath she kept With the pale stars, and with the dews hath wept;— Oh! surely some bright Presence from above On those wild rocks the lonely one must aid!— E'en so; a strengthener through all storm and shade, Th' unconquerable Angel, mightiest Love!