II.

The nightingale lorn of his note in darkness brooding Deeply and long, 'Two sweet months spake the heart to the heart. Alas! all's over, O lost my song.'

One in the tree, 'Hush now! Let be: The song at ending Left my long tending Over alsò. Let be, let us go Across the wan sea.

The little ones care not, And I fare not Amiss with thee.

Thou hast sung all, This hast thou had. Love, be not sad; It shall befall Assuredly, When the bush buddeth And the bank studdeth— Where grass is sweet And damps do fleet, Her delicate beds With daisy heads That the Stars Seven Leaned down from heaven Shall sparkling mark In the warm dark Thy most dear strain Which ringeth aye true— Piercing vale, croft Lifted aloft Dropt even as dew With a sweet quest To her on the nest When damps we love Fall from above.

"Art thou asleep? Answer me, answer me, Night is so deep Thy right fair form I cannot see; Answer me, answer me, Are the eggs warm? Is't well with thee?"

Ay, this shall be Assuredly. Ay, thou full fain In the soft rain Shalt sing again.'