The Minstrel. Book ii. Stanza 17.
At the close of the day when the hamlet is still,
And mortals the sweets of forgetfulness prove,
When naught but the torrent is heard on the hill,
And naught but the nightingale's song in the grove.
The Hermit.
He thought as a sage, though he felt as a man.
The Hermit.
But when shall spring visit the mouldering urn?
Oh when shall it dawn on the night of the grave?