Whose swelling cadences and dying falls
And whelming gushes of rich melody
Attune to meditation, all serene,
The weary spirit; and draw forth still thoughts
Of happy scenes half veilèd by the mists
Of bygone times. Yea, that calm influence
Hath soothed the billowy troubles of my heart
Till scarce one sad thought rises, though I sit
Beneath these trees, utterly desolate.
But no, not utterly, for still one friend