Thou art come from the spirit's land, thou bird!
Thou art come from the spirit's land,
Thro' the dark pine grove let thy voice be heard,
And tell of the shadowy band, tell of the shadowy band.

We know that the bow'rs are green and fair,
In the light of that summer shore,
And we know that the fiends we have lost are there,
they are there, they are there,
And they weep no more.

But tell us, but tell us,
Tell us thou bird of the solemn strain,
Can those who have lov'd forget?
We call and they answer not again,
We call and they answer not again,
Oh! say do they love us yet?
Do they love us yet? Do they love us yet?

We call them far through the silent night,
And they speak not from cave nor hill,
We know thou bird, that their land is bright,
But say, oh! say do they love there still?
Do they lover there still? Do they love there still?