And a spirit in my feet
Hath led me—who knows how?
To thy chamber-window, Sweet!"
Two of the boys, who had heard Hugh sing the song before, hummed a soft accompaniment. When he began the second verse several more began to hum; they had caught the melody. The couples on the veranda moved quietly to the porch railing, their chatter silent, their attention focused on a group of dim figures standing in the shadow of an elm. Hugh was singing well, better than he ever had before. Neither he nor his audience knew that the lyric was immortal, but its tender, passionate beauty caught and held them.
"The wandering airs they faint
On the dark, the silent stream—
The champak odors fail
Like sweet-thoughts in a dream;
The nightingale's complaint
It dies upon her heart,