And still thy brow, thy locks in lustre curl’d,
And thy dear eye of beauty shone on me:
And thou, my guardian angel, changelessly,
Though all abandon’d, still wouldst leave me not!
And then I thought, if e’er an hour should be,
When my poor soul might leave that rayless spot,
Thee would my spirit seek, forgetless, unforgot.
III.
Fear not, dear Lady, if my voice to thee,
Sounds then thus sadly, from the Spirit-land;