Page:Hemans in Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine 31 1832.pdf/4



"There is joy in the forest; the bird of night Hath made the leaves tremble with deep delight; But mine is the glory to sunshine given; Sing, sing, through the laughing heaven!

"Mine are the wings of the soaring morn, Mine the free gales with the day-spring born! Only young rapture can mount so high; Sing, sing, through the echoing sky!”

So those two voices met: so Joy and Death Mingled their accents; and, amidst the rush Of many thoughts, the listening poet cried, "Oh! thou art mighty, thou art wonderful, Mysterious Nature! not in thy free range Of woods and wilds alone, thou blendest thus The dirge-note and the song of festival!"