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THE ANCESTRAL SONG.
151
We have wept, that weep not now—
Calm is each once beating brow!
We have known the dreamer's woes—
All is now one bright repose!
Come, come, come !
Weary heart that long hast bled,
Languid spirit, drooping head,
Restless memory, vain regret,
Pining love whose light is set,
Come away!—'tis hush'd, 'tis well!
Where by shadowy founts we dwell,
All the fever-thirst is still'd,
All the air with peace is fill'd,—
Come, come, come!
And with her spirit rapt in that wild lay,
She pass'd, as twilight melts to night, away!
