Of mountains, hollow with sweet echo-cells.
But, as they murmur’d on, the mortal chill
Pass’d from me, like a mist before the morn;
And, to that glorious intercourse upborne
By slow degrees, a calm, divinely still,
Possess’d my frame. I sought that lighted eye—
From its intense and searching purity
I drank in soul!—I question’d of the dead—
Of the hush’d, starry shores their footsteps tread,
And I was answer’d. If remembrance there