Early through field and wood each Spring we sped, Young Ion leading o’er the reedy pass; How fleet his footsteps and how sure his tread! His converse deep and weighty;—where, alas! Like force of thought with subtlest beauty wed? The bee and bird and flower, the pile of grass, The lore of stars, the azure sky o’erhead, The eye’s warm glance, the Fates of love and dread,— All mirrored were in his prismatic glass; For endless Being’s myriad-minded race Had in his thought their registry and place,— Bright with intelligence, or drugged with sleep, Hid in dark cave, aloft on mountain steep, In seas immersed, ensouled in starry keep. III. Now Echo answers lone from cliff and brake, Where we in springtime sauntering loved to go,— Or at the mossy bank beyond the lake, On its green plushes oft ourselves did throw: There from the sparkling wave our thirst to slake, Dipped in the spring that bubbled up below, Our hands for cups, and did with glee partake. Next to the Hermit’s cell our way we make, Where sprightly talk doth hold the morning late; Deserted now: ah, Hylas, too, is gone! Hylas, dear Ion’s friend and mine,—I all alone, Alone am left by unrelenting fate,— Vanished my loved ones all,—the good, the great,— Why am I spared? why left disconsolate? IV. Slow winds our Indian stream through meadows green, By bending willows, tangled fen and brake, Smooth field and farmstead doth its flow forsake; ’Twas in far woodpaths Ion, too, was seen, But oftenest found at Walden’s emerald lake, (The murmuring pines inverted in its sheen;) There in his skiff he rippling rhymes did make, Its answering shores echoing the verse between: Full-voiced the meaning of the wizard song, Far wood and wave and shore, with kindred will, Strophe, antistrophe, in turn prolong:— Now wave and shore and wood are mute and chill, Ion, melodious bard, hath dropt his quill, His harp is silent, and his voice is still. V.