By Rachel Heffington
Bella Rose, the beauty of the land
Steps softly o'er the hills of sand
Beside the raging, dark'ning sea
And calls her Love in anguished tones
That echo through the maze of stones
And shiver back to me.
Six years sweet Bella Rose has tread
This shore, though all vow He is dead.
By daylight Bella Rose is tame
But nightly roams the beach with tears,
Her voice haunting the one who hears,
Repeating her Love's name.
Her dark hair tumbles loose and free
Bejewelled with the spray of sea;
Her cheeks are rose, her eyes speak hope.
Her voice as sweet as fairy-harp
Is broken now with sorrow sharp
And rings against the slope.
"My Love! My Love! Where canst thou be?
Dost not thou love thy fair Lady?
Come hither, for my heart is sore!"
She calls and waits for his return
With eyes of hope and love that burn,
And treads the lonely shore.