Page:Records of Woman.pdf/299

Rh

And all sweet sounds are thine, Lovely to hear, While night, o'er tomb and shrine, Rests darkly clear.

Many a solemn hymn, By starlight sung, Sweeps thro' the arches dim, Thy wrecks among.

Many a flute's low swell, On thy soft air Lingers, and loves to dwell With summer there.

Thou hast the South's rich gift Of sudden song, A charmed fountain, swift, Joyous, and strong.