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They parted—ne'er to meet again!
But never either found another
To free the hollow heart from paining—
They stood aloof, the scars remaining,
Like cl'ffs which had been rent asunder;
A dreary sea now flows between,
But neither heat, nor frost, nor thunder,
Shall wholly do away, I ween,
The marks of that which once hath been.
Nay, tell me not of lordly halls!
My Minstrels are the trees, The moss and the rock are my tapestried walls,
Earth's sounds my symphonies.
There's music sweeter to my soul
In the heave of the surge, than ever stole
There's mighty music in the roar
Of the oaks on the mountain's side, When the whirlwind bursts on their foreheads hoar,
And the lightnings flash blue and wide.
There's mighty music in the swell
Of Winter's midnight wave— When all above is the thunder peal,
And all below is the grave.
There's music in the city's hum,
Heard in the noontide glare,
On the breast of the sultry air.
There's music in the mournful swing
Of the lonely village bell, And think of the spirit upon the wing • •
Released by its solemn knell.
There's music in the forest-stream,
As it plays through the deep ravine, Where never Summer's breath or beam
Has pierced its woodland screen.
There's music[in the thundering sweep
Of the mountain waterfall,
From the brow of its marble wall.
There's music in the dawning morn,
Tis the rush of the breeze through the dewy corn-
There's music on the twilight cloud,
As homewards the screaming ravens crowd,
There's music in the depth of night,
When the world is still and dim,
Like thrones of the Cherubim!
HYMN BEFORE SUNRISE.
Hast thou a charm to stay the morning star
0 dread and silent mount! I gazed upon thee,
Didst vanish from my thought: entranced in prayer
1 worshipped the Invisible alone.
Yet, like some sweet beguiling melody, So sweet, we know not we are listening to it, Thou, the meanwhile, wast blending with my thoughts, Yea, with my life and life's own secret joy: Till the dilating soul, enrapt, transfused,
VOL. II. L
Into the mighty vision passing—there,
As in her natural form, swelled vast to heaven!
Awake, my soul! not only passive praise
Thou first and chief, sole sovran of the vale!
And you, ye five wild torrents fiercely glad! Who called you forth from night and utter death, From dark and icy caverns called you forth, Down those precipitous, black, jagged rocks, For ever shattered, and the same for ever? Who gave you your invulnerable life, Your strength, your speed, your fury, and your joy, Unceasing thunder, and eternal foam? And who commanded (and the silence came), . ' Here let the billows stiffen, and have rest?'