Which the deep will not restore thee;
And like that string of harp or lute
Whence the sweet sound is scatter’d,—
Gently, oh! gently touch the chords,
So soon for ever shatter’d!
BRIGHTLY HAST THOU FLED.
Brightly, brightly hast thou fled!
Ere one grief had bow’d thy head!
Brightly didst thou part!
With thy young thoughts pure from spot,