When night with her stars and dreams hath power,
And my step hath been soundless on the snows,
And the spell I have sung hath laid repose
On the billow and the blast.”
Then the torrents of the North
And the forest pines were still,
While a hollow chant came forth
From the dark sepulchral hill.
“There shines no sun midst the hidden dead,
But where the day looks not the brave may tread;