The world is hush’d to rest!”
Then sinks the voice—the strain is o’er,
Its last low cadence dies along the shore.
Fair Bertha hears th’ expected song,
Swift from her tower she glides along;
No echo to her tread awakes,
Her fairy step no slumber breaks;
And, in that hour of silence deep,
While all around the dews of sleep
O’erpower each sense, each eyelid steep,