CXVI.THE ECHO ON OXENFELL.
A MORAL.
I
My Sister! do not deem me rude,
If I have turned my head aside
Nor to thy loving words replied
In this hill solitude.
II
Darkness all round us deeply presses;
No starlight wavers to the earth,
No breeze is born of moonlight mirth
To part night's cloudy tresses.
III
No sound comes to us from the steep,
No watercourse is speaking now;
The very nightbirds on the bough
Forget themselves and sleep.
IV
The sky above of gloomiest blue
Doth seem to pause above the heath,
And, lest it wake some grassy breath,
Withholds her gift of dew.
V
Silence herself sweet sound desires,
And with her heavy hush is mingling
Somewhat of an impatient tingling,
Like chords of shaken lyres.
VI
Poor echo round each hollow stone
In this dark desert space is feeling
For every noise that might come stealing
For her to feed upon.
VII
Thou with thy words my name didst twine,
My Christian name, a sound the sweetest,
And of all names for echo meetest
When breathed by lips like thine.
VIII
I heard the stir thy whispers made,
And paused to see if on the heath
Echo would find that wandering breath,—
Half glad and half afraid.
IX
I thought perchance my name might wake
In airy places echo's soul,
The dull-eyed midnight to console
With sounds from bush and brake.
X
And yet I had a fluttering fear,
Lest wicked echo on the air
To all the lakes my name should bear,
And tell that we were here.
XI
First it would have a rocky sound,
And then a trembling leafy tone,
And harsh again by rugged stone,
And up from underground.
XII
And so from wood and heath and hollow,
Striking in single notes and double,
With babbling speed the breezy trouble
Cliff-side and brook would follow.
XIII
And ere the dawn could dapple heaven,
Old men and boys might catch the tale,
From Harter Fell to Ennerdale,
From Bassenth waite to Leven.
XIV
Yet what did peevish echo do?
She sate on every heap of stone,
And let those syllables alone,
As they went floating through.
XV
And now a gleam came up the lea,
And as the tardy moon was rising,
I murmured silently, advising
Myself much more than thee,—
XVI
What thing less heeded can we find
By all mankind than selfish Self?
Echo will teach us, wayward elf!—
That same Self by mankind!
