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 WHITE LADY FALLS. 

Gnarled nooks and twisted roots
Buried deep in craggy cleft,
Lead O on now my rocky path,
To a gorge afar ,filled only by
Those moist and musty mists,
Shadows, ever swirling covered by shaded leaf,
Of frightened haunted Prehistoric ruin.

Rush this stream, and rise to our fallen
For my heart is in m y soul,
Where the White Lady has fallen,
Search for her not, in the pools so deep,
And long for her not,
In this bewitched gorge of certain enchantment
Oh, my thoughtful one,
Now that she is lost, in them so deep,
Amid the chilling waters,
Of those unholy Prehistoric ruins,

And how I awake and tremble still,
When I saw those Eyes, 'n' her face,
Standin' jumpin' fall.
Into that foamin; grave
Of waters white,
For twas death of her own wantin'
When she did dive 'n' take her Lifem,
In deepest depths of unholy ruin,

Then scrub her clean,
And wash her new,
Raised from chirnin' whirlin' pools
Where in she did fall,
And commit such foolish folly,
Where even I did play my part,
Amid this dreamin' tragedy of an illusion called life,
Hidden in this dark and distant shaded glade,
Made from trees in the breeze,
Amid gnarled nooks and twisted roots,
Of unholy granite ruin.

 Lydford Gorge.