Glorious shape of light, she sweeps,
Tow’rd the shadow-peopled valley
Where the sacred Lethe sleeps;
Thither drawn by magic suasion,
As by gentle spirits led,
Fain she sees the silver billows,
And their flowery shores outspread.
Kneeling low with sweet foreboding
Griefs oblivious draught to taste,
Softly shines her trembling image