As if some wailing spirit in the strings
Met and o’ermaster’d him; but yielding then
To the strong prophet impulse, mournfully,
Like moaning waters o’er the harp he pour’d
The trouble of his haunted soul, and sang—
“Voice of the grave!
I hear thy thrilling call;
It comes in the dash of the foaming wave,
In the sere leaf’s trembling fall!
In the shiver of the tree,