Page:Translations (1834).djvu/95

Rh  Giant echoes of dismay, Trumpet of the whelming spray, Like a thousand voices blending, From the stars of heav’n descending; Like the crash of forests hurl’d, From the welkin to our world.

, bird of sweet melody, heav’n is thy home; With the tidings of summer thy bright pinions roam— The summer that thickens with foliage the glade, And lures to the woodland the poet and maid. Sweet as ‘sack,’ gentle bird, is thy beautiful voice, In thy accents the lover must ever rejoice; Oh! tell me at once, in thy musical lay, Where tarries the girl whose behest I obey.