In rippling lapses through the leaves.
And as the diapason sweeps
Across the breast of night, the moan
Of wolves upon the spirit creeps,
Lending the hymn a wilder tone.
The panther's wail, the owlet's scream,
The whippoorwill's complaining song,
Blend with the cataract's solemn theme,
And the wild cadences prolong.
And often when the heart is chilled