LXIV.

Then through the foliage not a breeze might sigh But with prophetic sound--a waving tree, A meteor flashing o’er the summer sky, A bird’s wild flight reveal’d the things to be. All spoke of unseen natures, and convey’d Their inspiration; still they hover’d round, Hallow’d the temple, whisper’d through the shade, Pervaded loneliness, gave soul to sound; Of them the fount, the forest, murmur’d still, Their voice was in the stream, their footstep on the hill.