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HER WHITE BOSOM BARE
T
HE sun had gone down O'er the hills of the west, And the last beams had faded O'er the mossy hill's crest, O'er the beauties of nature And the charms of the fair, And Amanda was bound With her white bosom bare.
At the foot of the mountain Amanda did sigh At the hoot of an owl Or the catamount's cry; Or the howl of some wolf In its low, granite cell, Or the crash of some large Forest tree as it fell.
Amanda was there All friendless and forlorn With her face bathed in blood And her garments all torn. The sunlight had faded O'er the hills of the green, And fierce was the look Of the wild, savage scene. 271 |
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