Soft hour of peace; without a trace
Of Man, where rise these heights uphurl’d,
I sit abandoned of the world.
How Nature's quietude august
Delights the feeling mind,
That heeds her voice, and learns to trust
Its joys with her to find!
Sweet silence! here I rest reclined,
With but the river's murmurings heard,
Or leaves by gentle breezes stirr'd.
Now its repose on languid wings,
Its freshness Night supplies;
To shaded heaven which faithful clings,
And blaze of daylight flies:
Unseen by that, mysterious lies
On mount and plain, to please though sad,
Still beauteous ev'n in horrors clad.
How is the ecstatic soul impressed
With melancholy thought!
The lovely picture here possess'd
Sublime with sadness fraught!
How more its music to be sought,
And peace, than all that may entrance
Page:Modern poets and poetry of Spain.djvu/332
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286
JOSE MARIA HEREDIA.
