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.

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.

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.

Our echoes roll from soul to soul,
And grow for ever and for ever.
Blow, bugle, blow, read more

Our echoes roll from soul to soul,
And grow for ever and for ever.
Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying,
And answer, echoes, answer, dying, dying, dying.

Like--but oh! how different!

Like--but oh! how different!

Lost Echo sits amid the voiceless mountains,
And feeds her grief.

Lost Echo sits amid the voiceless mountains,
And feeds her grief.

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?"

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),