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The babbling of the clear well-springs,
The whisperings of the trees,
And all the cheerful jargonings
Of feathered hearts at ease;
That whilome filled the vocal wood,
Have hushed their minstrelsies.
The silentness of night doth brood
O'er this bright summer noon;
And nature, in her holiest mood
Doth all things well attune
To joy, in the religious dreams
Of green and leafy June.
Far down the glen in distance gleams
The hamlet's tapering spire,
And glittering in meridial beams,
Its vane is tongued with fire;
And hark how sweet its silvery bell—
And hark the rustic choir!
The holy sounds float up the dell
To fill my ravished ear,
And now the glorious anthems swell
Of worshippers sincere—
Of hearts bowed in the dust, that shed
Faith's penitential tear.
