MUSIC'S ECHO by JOHN FREEMAN

IN my ears it grew,
Sound of joyous laughter,
Echo of plunging rivers
Flying a rainbow after,
And long-breathed notes
Of wind through deep caves,
With singing of bent pines
When the torn west raves,
And those long trembling chords
Of falling waves;
Of all these it grew,
Then sighed, as a willow
That air and water laves.

And a likeness was wrought
That cleared as I gazed.
Of Jonathan a look I caught
Who died in his spring;
Solomon, his brow so wide,
Beard heavy, tawny hands,
Solomon in his pride;
And Hector who 'neath Troy—
Ev'n Hector—had died;
And Roland who to Echo's
Far, fainter horn replied;
And the Black Prince that
@3Réveillé, Réveillé!@1 cried;
And Sidney, with grave honour
Stooped at his side;
And Wolfe, lonely and beautiful
Yet, as he died;
And Nelson, azure bright,
With stars and beams bedight ...

A music, a brightness,
Grew upon the air,
Shape plain as mountain's crest,
Sound like seamew's clear;
Came it whence? and passed
Whither—and why?
Fading, brightening, changing
Like a cloud in the sky.

Even as dreams shine
When stares a child upon
Marvels no elder knows,
So splendour shone;
And even so my lids
Drooped that I might stay
Awhile the shape of first delight
Upon the breast of day.

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