THORA'S SONG 



" ASHTAROTH " 



We severed in Autumn early, 



Ere the earth was torn by the plough ; 

 The wheat and the oats and the barley 



Are ripe for the harvest now. 

 We sunder'd one misty morning, 



Ere the hills were dimm'd by the rain, 

 Through the flowers those hills adorn- 

 ing— 



Thou comest not back again. 



My heart is heavy and weary 



With the weight of a weary soul ; 

 The mid-day glare groweth dreary, 



And dreary the midnight scroll. 

 The corn-stalks sigh for the sickle 



'Neath the load of the golden grain ; 

 I sigh for a mate more fickle — 



Thou comest not back again. 



The warm sun riseth and setteth, 



The night bringeth moist'ning dew, 

 But the soul that longeth, forgetteth 



The warmth and the moisture, too ; 

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