The Hermit

LISTEN! O listen! 'T is the thrush—God bless him!How marvellously sweet the song he sings!All Nature seems to listen and caress him,And Silence even closer folds her wingsLest she should miss one faintly-throbbing noteOf high-wrought rapture, from that flute-like throat.

The warbling world, itself, is hushed about him;No bird essays the amœbean strain:Each knows the soul of Music—full without him—Could bear no more, and rivalry were vain.So, Daphnis singing in the tamarisk shade,All things grew silent, of a sound afraid.

The aspens by the lake have ceased to shiver,As if the very zephyrs held their breath:Hearken how, wave on wave, with notes that quiver,It rises now—that song of life and death!"O holy! holy!" Was it Heaven that calledMy spirit, by love's ecstasy enthralled?