She hath wander’d through many a hamlet-vale,
Telling its children her brother’s tale;
And the strains by his spirit pour’d away
Freely as fountains might shower their spray,
From her fervent lip a new life have caught,
And a power to kindle yet bolder thought;
While sometimes a melody, all her own,
Like a gush of tears in its plaintive tone,
May be heard midst the lonely rocks to flow,
Clear through the water-chimes—clear, yet low