My spirit’s dwelling still hath been;
And he is there—I see him laid
Beneath that palm-tree’s lonely shade.
The fountain-wave that sparkles nigh
Bears witness with its crimson dye!
I see th’ accusing glance he raised,
Ere that dim eye by death was glazed;
—Ne’er will that parting look forgive!
I still behold it—and I live!
I live! from hope, from mercy driven,