Page:Songs of the Affections.pdf/157

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A might, a mystery; and the quivering light Of wind-sway'd lamps, made spectral in their sight The forms of buried beauty, sad, yet fair, Gleaming along the walls with braided hair, Long in the dust grown dim; and she, too, saw, But with the spirit's eye of raptured awe, Those pictured shapes!—a bright, yet solemn train, Beckoning, they floated o'er her dreamy brain, Clothed in diviner hues; while on her ear Strange voices fell, which none besides might hear, Sweet, yet profoundly mournful, as the sigh Of winds o'er harp-strings through a midnight sky; And thus it seem'd, in that low thrilling tone, Th' ancestral shadows call'd away their own.

Come, come, come! Long thy fainting soul hath yearn'd For the step that ne'er return'd; Long thine anxious ear hath listen'd, And thy watchful eye hath glisten'd