Held bright communion with the blest:
’Tis sweet, but solemn! There alike
Silence and sound with awe can strike.
The deep Eolian murmur made
By sighing breeze and rustling shade,
And cavern’d fountain gushing nigh,
And wild-bee’s plaintive lullaby:
Or the dead stillness of the bowers,
When dark the summer-tempest lowers;
When silent nature seems to wait