TRANSLATION.
63
And gone, fast journeying from that place of meeting,
The echoes of their welcome, one by one.
Though stranger crowds, my listeners since, are beating
Time to my music, their applauding tone
More grieves than glads me, while the tried and true,
If yet on earth, are wandering far and few.
A longing long unfelt, a deep-drawn sighing
For the far Spirit-World o’erpowers me now;
My song’s faint voice sinks fainter, like the dying
Tones of the wind-harp swinging from the bough,
And my changed heart throbs warm, no more denying
Tears to my eyes or sadness to my brow;
The near afar off seems, the distant nigh,
The now a dream, the past reality.
