DEAD ; IN B ERGEN , N ORWAY ; August 18, 1880

THE minstrel's mystic wand
Has fallen from his hand;
Stilled is the tuneful shell;
The airs he used to play
For us but yesterday
Have failed and died away
In sad farewell.

Forgive — O noble heart,
Whose pure and gracious art
Enraptured, all these years,
Sang sweet, and sweeter yet
Above all sounds that fret,
And all sobs of regret —
Forgive our tears!

Forgive us, weeping thus
That thou art gone from us —
Because thy song divine,
Too, with the master, gone,
Leaves us to listen on
In silence till the dawn
That now is thine.