“Oh, where shall rest be found—
Rest for the weary soul?
’Twere vain the ocean’s depths to sound,
Or pierce to either pole.”
There was a silence of a full minute, during which the young man’s heart thumped loudly against his ribs. Was he listening to the voice of one risen from the grave?
Then the weird singing recommenced, with a wail of passionate despair in the notes—
“The world can never give
The bliss for which we sigh;
’Tis not the whole of life to live,
Nor all of death to die.”