But drops which would not stay for pride
From that dark eye gush’d free,
As pressing his pale brow, he cried,
“Forgotten! e’en by thee!
“Am I so changed?—and yet we two
Oft hand in hand have play’d;
This brow hath been all bathed in dew
From wreaths which thou hast made;
We have knelt down and said one prayer,
And sung one vesper strain;