Now is their hearth a forsaken spot,
The vine waves unpruned o’er their mountain cot:
Away, in that holy affection’s might,
The maiden is gone, like a breeze of the night.
She is gone forth alone, but her lighted face,
Filling with soul every secret place,
Hath a dower from heaven, and a gift of sway,
To arouse brave hearts in its hidden way,
Like the sudden flinging forth on high
Of a banner, that startleth silently!