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And they sighed as they answered, “ Ah! no! alas! no,
She was laid in the bed of the tomb long ago."
"Then show me the way where my footsteps must tread,
To reach that dark chamber where slumbers the dead."
"The path is before thee—her grave will be known,
By the rosemary wreathes her companions have strown."
"And where is the church—and the churchyard—whose heaps
Will point out the bed where the blessed one sleeps?"
So straight to the church-yard in sadness I drew,
But I saw no fresh heap, and no grave that was new.
I turned—a new grave slowly rose at my feet,
And my heart froze all o'er with a damp icy sweat.
And I heard a low voice—but it audibly said,
"Disturb not—disturb not the sleep of the dead.
Who treads on my bosom—what footsteps have swept
The dew from the bed where the weary one slept?"
