II.
From the dewy grass upspringing—
From my wing the pearl-drops flinging—
Upward, with exultant singing,
Let me—let me fly!
Sun, with gemmed and flashing banners,
List my rapturous hosannas—
As I mount, on circling wing,
Higher, o'er the fragrant meadow,—
O'er the forest's broken shadow,—
O'er the hill-tops green and golden,—
Where the ivied ruins olden
Echo out with sudden gladness
As I break their brooding sadness
With the lays I sing!
Joy, joy!—I have caught the song
Of the angels that sit above!—
And warble in musical chorus alway
Those notes that oftentimes earthward stray
So tenderly sweet at the fall of day,
What time the rose-bud's trembling spray
Thrills with their lays of love!—
Joy, joy!—I have caught the song
Of bright ones that sit above!—
And the far-off Earth's a forgotten thing,
As I mount on free and fetterless wing,
Up to the sun-fields where they sing,
Drawn on by their soul of love!
Hush! is it a voice of Earth—
Of the far-away Earth, I hear?
Breathing of the fragrant meadow,—
Of the drooping willow's shadow,—
Of the breezes' gentle sighing,—
Of the brooklet's low replying,—
Of the blue, o'er-arching heaven,—
Of the violet-curtained even,—
Of the tender, dreamy starlight,—
Of the hushed, majestic midnight?—
And through all that murmur so sad and low,
Meanings of passionate anguish flow,
Till I feel a weight on my glancing wing
Bearing me earthward while yet I sing,
With its burden of heavy woe.