And a newly made grave at my feet slowly rose.
And I heard a low voice, but it audibly said,
"Disturb not, disturb not the sleep of the dead!
"Who treads on my bosom? what footsteps have swept
The dew from the bed where the weary one slept?"
"My maiden, my maiden, so speak not to me,
My presents were once not unwelcome to thee!"
"Thy presents were welcome, but none could I save,
Not one could I bring to the stores of the grave.
"Go thou to my mother, and bid her restore