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Where, from their frozen urns, mute springs
Pour out the river's gradual tide, Shrilly the skater's iron rings,
And voices fill the woodland side.
Alas! how changed from the fair scene,
When birds sang out their mellow lay, And winds were soft, and woods were green And the song ceased not with the day.
But still wild music is abroad,
Pale, desert woods! within your crowd; And gathering winds, in hoarse accord, Amid the vocal reeds pipe loud.
Chill airs and wintry winds! my ear
I hear it in the opening year,
I listen, and it cheers me long.
WHEN the dying flame of day
And the nun's sweet hymn was heard the while
Sung low in the dim, mysterious aisle.
"Take thy banner! May it wave
Take thy banner! and, beneath
In the breaking forth of power,
In the rush of steeds and men,
His right hand will shield thee then.
"Take thy banner! But, when night Closes round the ghastly fight,
If the vanquished warrior bow,
By our prayers and many tears,
-Take thy banner!-and if e'er
The warrior took that banner proud,
I STOOD upon the hills, when heavens wide arch
Was glorious with the sun's returning march, And woods were brightened, and soft gales Went forth to kiss the sun-clad vales.
The clouds were far beneath me;-bathed in light,
They gathered mid-way round the wooded height,
And, in their fading-glory, shone
Like hosts in battle overthrown,
As many a pinnacle, with shifting glance, Through the gray mist thrust up its shattered