Chapter 159 No.159

And, for they were so lonely, Clare

Would to these battlements repair,

And muse upon her sorrows there,

And list the sea-bird's cry;

Or slow, like noontide ghost, would glide

Along the dark grey bulwark's side,

And ever on the heaving tide

Look down with weary eye.

Oft did the cliff, and swelling main,

Recall the thoughts