Come away!—’tis hush’d, ’tis well,
Where by shadowy founts we dwell,
All the fever-thirst is still’d,
All the air with peace is fill’d,—
Come, come, come!
And with her spirit wrapt in that wild lay.
She pass’d, as twilight melts to night, away!
THE MAGIC GLASS.
“How lived, how loved, how died they?”—Byron.
“The dead! the glorious dead!—and shall they rise?