It sings a low and mournful song of gladness that is gone—
I cannot live without that light. Father of waves! roll on!
“Will he not miss the bounding step that met him from the chase?
The heart of love that made his home an ever-sunny place?
The hand that spread the hunter’s board, and deck’d his couch of yore?—
He will not! Roll, dark foaming stream, on to the better shore!
“Some blessed fount amidst the woods of that bright land must flow,
Whose waters from my soul may lave the memory of this woe;
Some gentle wind must whisper there, whose breath may waft away
The burden of the heavy night, the sadness of the day.