Soon, however, Ernest’s fear was dissipated, for he heard the music accompanied by a human voice. He moved forward a step or two, and then bent eagerly towards the spot whence the tones issued, striving to catch the burthen of the uttered tones. This at length he did, and this is the song that fell upon his ears:— Proudly the sun has sunk to rest Behind yon dim and distant hill; The busy noise of day has ceased, A holy calm the air doth fill. That softening haze which veils the light Of sunset in the gorgeous sky, Is dusk, grey harbinger of night, Now gliding onward silently. No sound rings through the solemn vale Save murmurs of those tall dark trees, Which raise eternally their wail, Bending beneath the twilight breeze. And my harp peals the woods among When vesper lifts its quiet eye, Commingling with each night-bird’s song That chants its vigils pensively. And here I sit, until night’s noon Hath gemmed the heavens with many a star, And sing beneath the wandering moon Who comes, high journeying, from afar. Oh! sweet to me is that still hour When frown the shades of night around, Deepening the gloom of forest bower; Filling the air with awe profound. I hush my harp, and hush my song, Low kneeling ’neath the lofty sky, I hark the nightingale prolong Her strain of wondrous melody, Forth gushing like a mountain rill, So rich, so deep, so clear and free; She pours it forth o’er dale and hill, O’er rock and river, lake and tree, Till morn comes, and, with rosy hand, Unbars the golden gates of day; Then, as at touch of magic wand, The earth is clad in fair array. Then from its couch the skylark springs; The trembling drops of glittering dew Are scattered, as with vigorous wings It mounts the glorious arch of blue.