The splendor falls on castle walls,
And snowy summits old in story;
The long light shines across the lake,
And the wild cataract leaps in glory.
Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying;
Blow, bugle; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying.
Oh, hark! oh, hear! how thin and clear,
And thinner, clearer, farther going;
Oh, sweet and far, from cliff and spar,
The horns of Elf-land faintly blowing.
Blow, let us hear the purple glens replying;
Blow, bugle; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying.
Oh, love, they die in yon rich sky;
They faint on field, or hill, or river;
Our echoes roll from soul to soul,
And grow forever and forever.
Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying
And answer, echoes, answer, dying, dying, dying.