There follows the rising of the song into the pure echo of the music of the ghostly years, through which the stranger wanders, the years which the brother follows who begins dwelling in the land of evening:

Darker the waters flowed round the lovely games of the fishes.

Hour of mourning and silent sight of the sun;

Something strange is the soul on the earth. Ghostly the twilight

Bluing over the mishewn forest, and a dark bell

Long tolls in the village; they lead him to rest.

Silent the myrtle blooms over his dead white eyelids.

Softly murmur the waters in the declining afternoon,

On the banks the green wilderness darkens, joy in the rosy wind;

The gentle song of the brother by the evening hill.