XL.
Yet to behold his face again, and hear
His voice, tho' painful was a deep delight:
It was a joy to think that he was near,
To see him in the visions of the night,—
To know that the departed still requite
The love which to their memory still will cling:
And tho' he might not bless her waking sight
With his dear presence, 'twas a blessed thing
That sleep would thus sometimes his actual image bring.
XLI.
Why comes he not to me? Yeruti cries:
And Mooma echoing with a sigh the thought,
Ask'd why it was that to her longing eyes
No dream the image of her father brought?
Nor Monnema to solve that question sought
In vain, content in ignorance to dwell;
Perhaps it was because they knew him not;
Perhaps—but sooth she could not answer well;
What the departed did, themselves alone could tell.
