Tell me, thou soul of her I love, br Ah! tell me, whither art thou fled; br To what delightful world above, br Appointed for the happy dead? br br Or dost thou, free, at pleasure, roam br And sometimes share thy lover's woe; br Where, void of thee, his cheerless home br Can now, alas! no comfort know? br br Oh! if thou hoverest round my walk, br While, under every well-known tree, br I to thy fancied shadow talk, br And every tear is full of thee; br br Should then the weary eye of grief, br Beside some sympathetic stream, br In slumber find a short relief, br Visit thou my soothing dream!br br James Thomsonbr br