When roused from sleep she, weeping, silence broke—
‘Thou whom my father loved! of life bereft,
Though yet alive, all sense this frame hath left.
A form endowed with more than mortal grace,
Mysterious led me, and with hurried pace,
’Mid ever varying scenes, as wild as new,
O’er banks and meads where pliant osiers grew.
Then left to wander pathless and alone,
I vainly sought thee amid scenes unknown.
My father called, his child forlorn address’d,