A sombre shadow crossed its path,
Deep thunders rolled in awful wrath,
The thrush beneath the fir-trees crept,
The maiden-hair bowed low and wept;
The heavens were black, the earth was gray
The hills all blanched in the spectral day,—
The night-wind rose, and wailed this song:
“Oh, long, long,
Oh, joy is fleeting, life so long!”
Behold,