Their voice on its high waves!—a mighty burst!
A forest-sounding music! Every tone
Which the blasts call forth with their harping wings
From gulfs of tossing foliage, there is blent:
And the old minster—forest-like itself—
With its long avenues of pillar’d shade,
Seems quivering all with spirit, as that strain
O’erflows its dim recesses, leaving not
One tomb unthrill’d by the strong sympathy
Answering the electric notes. Join, join, my soul!