“Bid thy soul’s love farewell, young chief—
Bid her a long farewell!
Like the morning’s dew shall pass that grief:
Thou comest with me to dwell!
“Thy bark may rush through the foaming deep,
Thy steed o’er the breezy hill;
But they bear thee on to a place of sleep,
Narrow, and cold, and chill!”
“Was the voice I heard thy voice, O Death!
And is thy day so near?