Solemnly beautiful—a stillness deep,
Fell on her settled face. Then, sad and slow,
And mantling up his stately head in woe,
“Thou’rt passing hence,” he sang, that warrior old,
In sounds like those by plaintive waters roll’d.
“Thou’rt passing from the lake’s green side,
And the hunter’s hearth away:
For the time of flowers, for the summer’s pride,
Daughter! thou canst not stay.
“Thou’rt journeying to thy spirit’s home,