Interlude, continued

Slow moved she on with dignity,
Nor bush, nor brake, nor rock, nor tree,
Her footsteps staid — o'er cliff so bold,
Where scarce the roe her foot could hold,
Stately she wandered, firm and free,
Singing her softened lullaby.

Three naked phantoms next came on ;
They beckoned low, passed, and were gone,
Then came a troop of sheeted dead,
With shade of chieftain at their head ;
And with our bard, in brake forlorn,
Held converse till the break of morn.
Their ghostly rites, their looks, their mould,
Or words to man, he never told ;
But much he learned of mystery,
Of what was past, and what should be.
Thenceforth he troubles oft divined,
And scarcely held his perfect mind ;
Yet still the song, admired when young,
He loved, and that in Court he sung.