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What are clustered pillars to
The gnarled trunk of silvery hue,
That, Titan-like, heaves its huge form
Through centuries of change and storm,
And stands as it were planted there,
Alike for shelter and for prayer?
Hither, my jocund Fancy! Turn,
And note how Heaven's pure watchfires burn
In yonder fields of deepest blue,
Investing space with glories new!
And hark how in the bosky dell
Warbles mate-robbed Philomel!
Every sound from that glade stealing
Sadness woos with kindred feeling—
The notes of a love-broken heart
Surpass the dull appeal of art;
Here rest awhile, for every where,
On lake, lawn, tower, and forest tree,
Falleth in floods the moonshine fair—
How beautiful night's glories be!
No stir is heard upon the land,
No murmur from the sea;
The pulse of life seems at a stand
As nature quaffeth, rapturously,
