Page:National Lyrics.pdf/139

Rh

—No! from that bright band of morn, Not one link hath yet been torn; 'Tis the shadow of the tomb Falling o'er the summer-bloom, O'er the flush of love and life Passing with a sudden strife; 'Tis the low prophetic breath Murmuring from that house of death, Whose faint whisper thus their hearts can melt, "I too, Shepherds! in Arcadia dwelt."