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But see-they vanish, one by one,
And last, the Doe herself is gone.
Harp! we have been full long beguiled
By busy dreams, and fancies wild;
To which, with no reluctant strings,
Thou hast attuned thy murmurings;
And now before this Pile we stand
In solitude, and utter peace :
But, harp! thy murmurs may not cease,—
Thou hast breeze-like visitings;
For a Spirit with angel wings
Hath touched thee, and a Spirit's hand:
A voice is with us—a command
To chaunt, in strains of heavenly glory,
A tale of tears, a mortal story!
END OF CANTO FIRST.
