But her voice is still living immortal,
The same you have frequently heard,
In your rambles in read more

But her voice is still living immortal,
The same you have frequently heard,
In your rambles in valleys and forests,
Repeating your ultimate word.

Hark! to the hurried question of Despair
"Where is my child?"--An echo answers--
"Where?"

Hark! to the hurried question of Despair
"Where is my child?"--An echo answers--
"Where?"

Echo waits with art and care
And will the faults of song repair.

Echo waits with art and care
And will the faults of song repair.

How sweet the answer Echo makes
To music at night,
When, roused by lute or horn, she read more

How sweet the answer Echo makes
To music at night,
When, roused by lute or horn, she wakes,
And far away, o'er lawns and lakes,
Goes answering light.

I came to the place of my birth and cried: "The friends of my
youth, where are they?"--and an read more

I came to the place of my birth and cried: "The friends of my
youth, where are they?"--and an echo answered, "Where are they?"

Never sleeping, still awake,
Pleasing most when most I speak;
The delight of old and young,
read more

Never sleeping, still awake,
Pleasing most when most I speak;
The delight of old and young,
Though I speak without a tongue.
Nought but one thing can confound me,
Many voices joining round me,
Then I fret, and rave, and gabble,
Like the labourers of Babel.

Let echo, too, perform her part,
Prolonging every note with art;
And in a low expiring strain,
read more

Let echo, too, perform her part,
Prolonging every note with art;
And in a low expiring strain,
Play all the comfort o'er again.

Even Echo speaks not on these radiant moors.
- Barry Cornwall (pseudonym of Bryan Waller Procter),

Even Echo speaks not on these radiant moors.
- Barry Cornwall (pseudonym of Bryan Waller Procter),

I heard . . .
. . . the great echo flap
And buffet round the hills read more

I heard . . .
. . . the great echo flap
And buffet round the hills from bluff to bluff.