Echo.
After Narcissus left the mountain, Echo sought a lonely cave amid the rocks; and she grieved so over her punishment, that she pined away until nothing was left [!-- original location of illustration --] of the lovely nymph but her voice. Sometimes, in the lonely mountain paths, if you call, you will hear Echo repeating your words softly from a distance. But you will never see her; she is nothing but a voice.
BLUE.
Blue! ’Tis the life of heaven,—the domain
Of Cynthia,—the wide palace of the sun,—
The tent of Hesperus, and all his train,—
The bosomer of clouds, gold, gray, and dun.
Blue! ’Tis the life of waters—ocean
And all its vassal streams; pools numberless
May range, and foam, and fret, but never can
Subside, if not to dark-blue nativeness.
Blue! Gentle cousin of the forest green,
Married to green in all the sweetest flowers—
Forget-me-not, the bluebell, and that queen
Of secrecy, the violet: what strange powers
Hast thou, as a mere shadow! But how great
When in an eye thou art alive with fate!
Athens.
The Parthenon.