Through many a fragrant cedar grove
A darkened water moans;
And there pale Memory stood with Love
Amongst the moss-green stones.
The shimmering sunlight fell and kissed
The grasstree-s golden sheaves;
But we were troubled with a mist
Of music in the leaves.

One passed us, like a sudden gleam;
Her face was deadly fair.
-Oh, go,� we said, -you homeless Dream
Of Ella-s shining hair!

-We halt, like one with tired wings,
And we would fain forget
That there are tempting, maddening things
Too high to clutch at yet!

-Though seven Springs have filled the Wood
With pleasant hints and signs,
Since faltering feet went forth and stood
With Death amongst the pines.�

From point to point unwittingly
We wish to clamber still,
Till we have light enough to see
The summits of the hill.

-O do not cry, my sister dear,�
Said beaming Hope to Love,
-Though we have been so troubled here
The Land is calm above;

-Beyond the regions of the storm
We-ll find the golden gates,
Where, all the day, a radiant Form,
Our Ella, sits and waits.�

And Memory murmured: -She was one
Of God-s own darlings lent;
And Angels wept that she had gone,
And wondered why she went.

-I know they came, and talked to her,
Through every garden breeze,
About eternal Hills of Myrrh,
And quiet Jasper Seas.

-For her the Earth contained no charms;
All things were strange and wild;
And I believe a Seraph-s arms
Caught up the sainted Child.�

And Love looked round, and said: -Oh, you
That sit by Beulah-s streams,
Shake on this thirsty life the dew
Which brings immortal dreams!

-Ah! turn to us, and greet us oft
With looks of pitying balm,
And hints of heaven, in whispers soft,
To make our troubles calm.

-My Ella with the shining hair,
Behold, these many years,
We-ve held up wearied hands in prayer;
And groped about in tears.�

But Hope sings on: -Beyond the storm
We-ll find the golden gates
Where, all the day, a radiant Form,
Our Ella, sits and waits.�