Fanning thy temples till thy soul was free,
While the clay slept, to wander at my side;
And to its bonds at dawn restoring thee,
A child of earth, till, for a holier shrine,
Thy wings at length are fledged, and thou art mine.”
Thus spake the spirit, and the veil of light,
That round him hung, o’er Eva’s form was cast:
The bark that bore her, ne’er to mortal sight
Came up the stream from whence its keel had passed.
They watched her from the shore-girt river glide,