“By the tree.” Ay, she mocked him again, with her voice sweet and merry;
“Hie over!” “Hie over!” “You man of the ferry”—“the ferry.”
“You man of the ferry—”
“You man of—you man of—the ferry.”
Ay, here—it was here that we woke her, the Echo of old;
All life of that day seems an echo, and many times told.
Shall I cross by the ferry to-morrow, and come in my white
To that little low church? and will Oliver meet me anon?
Will it all seem an echo from childhood passed over—passed on?
Will the grave parson bless us? Hark! hark! in the dim failing light