“Sweet oracles of woods and dells,
And summer windy ill sylvan cells;..
The clearest echoes of the hills,
The softest notes of falling rills,
The melodies of birds and bees,
The murmuring of summer seas,
And pattering rain, and breathing dew,
And airs of evening; all it knew....
--All this it knows, but will not tell
To those who cannot question well
The spirit that inhabits it;...
But, sweetly as its answers will
Flatter hands of perfect skill,
It keeps its highest, holiest tone
For one beloved Friend alone.”
Lyddy heard the violin and the man's voice as he talked to the
child,--heard them night after night; and when she went home to the
little brown house to light the fire on the hearth and let down the warm
red curtains, she fell into sweet, sad reveries; and when she blew out
her candle for the night, she fell asleep and dreamed new dreams, and
her heart was stirred with the rustling of new-born hopes that rose and
took wing like birds startled from their nests.