The voice of Nature in her changeful moods
Breathes o'er the solemn waters as they flow,
And 'mid the wavings of the ancient woods
Murmurs, now filled with joy, now sad and low.
Thou gentle poet, she hath tuned thy mind
To deep accordance with the harmony
That floats above the mountain summits free--
A concert of Creation on the wind.
And thy calm strains are breathed as though the dove
And nightingale had given thee for thy dower
The soul of music and the heart of love;
And with a holy, tranquillising power
They fall upon the spirit, like a gleam
Of quiet star-light on a troubled stream.
M.A. HOARE.