"Then show me the way where my footsteps must tread,
To reach that dark chamber, where slumber the dead."
"The path is before thee, her grave will be known,
By the rosemary wreaths her companions have thrown."
"And where is the church in church-yard, whose heaps
Will point out the bed where the blessed one sleeps?"
So twice to the church-yard in sadness I drew,
But I saw no fresh heap and no grave that was new.
I turned, and with heart-chilling terror I froze,