Which shone as a light through the silken lire,
Pure as was that of the vestal fire;
And ever she kissed in hysterical mood
The bit of the cross all red with blood.
"Oh mother dear! I wish--I fear
The time of my going is drawing near:
Last night, at the mirk and midnight hour,
A voice seemed to come through my chamber door--
For the ear of the dying is tender and fine--
And three times it sounded Etheline;
And it is true, as I've heard say,
Such voices are calls to come away--
The voices of angels hovering near,
Who wish us to join them in yonder sphere."
"Oh! no, oh! no, my own dear child,
Thine overfine ears have thee beguiled:
It was the Yerl, when in a dream,
Who three times called thy dear-loved name;
I heard the call as awake I lay,
And thou mayst believe what now I say."

"Oh mother! oh mother! what do I hear?
It is the nightingale singing clear;
I have heard the notes in Italian clime,
And remember them since that early time;
And it is true, as I've heard say,
That when the nightingale sings by day,
The dying who hears it will pass away."
"No, no, my child, the song you hear
Is that of the throstle-cock singing clear: