by Elizabeth Bentley
O THOU, whose calm responsive note,
On ambient air is heard to float,
And melt in soft decay;
Soon as to greet the orient sun,
Shrill warbling has the lark begun,
Thy voice returns the lay,
Daughter of Sound, who lov'st to dwell
Remote from mortals, in the dell,
Or on the billow-beaten shore;
Or 'mid the hollow rocky caves,
Whose sides some rapid fountain laves,
To catch the torrent's roar.
When silent Midnight's solemn shade,
Shall Nature's brightest charms invade,
When the lorn Nightingale her sorrows chaunts,
Thy mimic accents, faint tho' clear,
Pour ecstacy on Meditation's ear,
Seeking her lonely haunts.
Thy voice in murmurs hoarse resounds,
When thunder's sudden burst astounds,
Thro' the rent air with repercussion strong;
Thou from the cliff with peal for peal,
Bid'st trembling guilt new horrors feel,
And aw'st th' affrighted throng.
But when the vaulted dome rebounds,
With Harmony's enchanting sounds,
Which Heav'n's immortal praise inspires,
Thy airy shell the song repeats,
Thy tones the mind with rapture meets,
And feels seraphic fires.
Last updated January 14, 2019