By that Lake, whose gloomy shore <br />Sky-lark never warbles o'er, <br />Where the cliff hangs high and steep, <br />Young Saint Kevin stole to sleep. <br />"Here, at least," he calmly said, <br />"Woman ne'er shall find my bed." <br />Ah! the good Saint little knew <br />What that wily sex can do. <br /> <br />'Twas from Kathleen's eyes he flew -- <br />Eyes of most unholy blue! <br />She had loved him well and long, <br />Wish'd him hers, nor thought it wrong. <br />Wheresoe'er the Saint would fly, <br />Still he heard her light foot nigh; <br />East or west, where'er he turn'd, <br />Still her eyes before him burn'd. <br /> <br />On the bold cliff's bosom cast, <br />Tranquil now he sleeps at last; <br />Dreams of heaven, nor thinks that e'er <br />Woman's smile can haunt him there. <br />But nor earth nor heaven is free <br />From her power, if fond she be: <br />Even now, while calm he sleeps, <br />Kathleen o'er him leans and weeps. <br /> <br />Fearless she had track'd his feet <br />To this rocky wild retreat; <br />And when morning met his view, <br />Her mild glances met it too. <br />Ah, your Saints have cruel hearts! <br />Sternly from his bed he starts, <br />And with rude repulsive shock <br />Hurls her from the beetling rock. <br /> <br />Glendalough, thy gloomy wave <br />Soon was gentle Kathleen's grave! <br />Soon the Saint (yet ah! too late,) <br />Felt her love, and mourn'd her fate. <br />When he said, "Heaven rest her soul!" <br />Round the Lake light music stole; <br />And her ghost was seen to glide, <br />Smiling, o'er the fatal tide.<br /><br />Thomas Moore<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/by-that-lake-whose-gloomy-shore/