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Hymns and Poems

Original and Translated: By Edward Caswall ... Second Edition

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 I. 
 II. 
 III. 
 IV. 
 V. 
 VI. 
 VII. 
 VIII. 
 IX. 
 X. 
 XI. 
 XII. 
 XIII. 
 XIV. 
 XV. 
 XVI. 
 XVII. 
 XVIII. 
XVIII. TO ECHO.
 XIX. 
 XX. 
 XXI. 
 XXII. 
 XXIII. 
 XXIV. 
 XXV. 
 XXVI. 
 XXVII. 
 XXVIII. 
 XXIX. 
 XXX. 
 XXXI. 
 XXXII. 
 XXXIII. 
 XXXIV. 
 XXXV. 
 XXXVI. 
 XXXVII. 
 XXXVIII. 
 XXXIX. 
 XL. 
 XLI. 
 XLII. 
 XLIII. 
 XLIV. 
 XLV. 
 XLVI. 
 XLVII. 
 XLVIIII. 
 XLIX. 
 L. 
 LI. 
 LII. 
 LIII. 
 LIV. 
 LV. 
 LVI. 
 LVII. 
 LVIII. 
 LIX. 
 LX. 

XVIII. TO ECHO.

Genius most coy!
Who in deep hermit-glen,
Where through o'er-foliaged cleft the brooklet steals,
A sylvan life dost lead!

437

Or in high dome,
To solemn-sounding choir,
From thy calm realm wide-arching overhead,
Returnest strain for strain!
Thee in some grot,
Far down primeval time,
From noise of heaving chaos deep retired,
Did Silence bring to birth;
There nursed thee up
Beneath a radiant roof,
Where sparkled thick innumerable gems,
The storehouse of a world!
Whence still thy voice,
Most heard in lonely scenes,
Flies from the common haunt, from business rude,
And the coarse hum of men.
O, that with thee
I, too, apart might dwell;
Nor to the traffic of the world consign'd,
Invert the ends of life!