Then I heard that silvery singing, still upon my ear ’tis ringing,
And where once beneath that cedar, knelt my soft-eyed sweet gazelle,
Saw I there a seraph glowing, with her golden tresses flowing,
On the perfumed zephyrs blowing, from Eolus’ mystic cell
Saw I in that seraph’s beauty, semblance of my Isabel,
Gently whispering, ‘Fare thee well!’”
“Glorious one,” I cried, upspringing, “art thou joyful tidings bringing,
From the land of shadowy visions, spirit of my Isabel?
Shall thy coming leave no token? Shall there no sweet word be spoken?
Shall thy silence be unbroken, in this ever blessed dell?