A fair wife making her moan, despised, forsaken,
Her good days o'er;
‘ Seven sweet years of my life did I live belovèd,
Seven — no more.’
Then Echo woke — and spoke
‘ No more — no more,’
And a wave broke
On the sad shore
When Echo said
‘ No more,’
Nought else made reply,
Nor land, nor loch, nor sky
Did any comfort try,
But the wave spread
Echo's faint tone
Alone,
All down the desolate shore,
‘ No more — no more.’