III.

A fair wife making her moan, despised, forsaken, Her good days o'er; 'Seven sweet years of my life did I live belovèd, Seven—no more.'

Then Echo woke—and spoke 'No more—no more,' And a wave broke On the sad shore When Echo said 'No more,'

Nought else made reply, Nor land, nor loch, nor sky Did any comfort try, But the wave spread Echo's faint tone Alone, All down the desolate shore, 'No more—no more.'