Song to Echo

Sweet Echo! sleeps thy vocal shell,

Where this high arch o'erhangs the dell;

While Tweed, with sun-reflecting streams,

Chequers thy rocks with dancing beams?

Here may no clamours harsh intrude,

No brawling hound or clarion rude;

Here no fell beast of midnight prowl

And teach thy tortured cliffs to howl.

Be thine to pour these vales along

Some artless shepherd's evening song;

While night's sweet bird from yon high spray

Responsive listens to his lay.

And if, like me, some love-lorn maid

Should sing her sorrows to thy shade,

Oh! sooth her breast, ye rocks around,

With softest sympathy of sound.