Chapter XII

Or westward far, where dark Miami wends,
Seek that fair spot as yet to fame unknown;
Where, when the vesper dew of heaven descends,
Soft music breathes in many a melting tone,
At times so sadly sweet it seems the moan
Of some poor Ariel penanced in the rock;
Anon a louder burst--a scream! a groan!
And now amid the tempest's reeling shock,
Gibber, and shriek, and wail--and fiend-like laugh and mock.