Under the silver moon:
Sleep, my little one, sleep, my pretty one, sleep.”
Sweet influence, indeed, this of the babe which reaches across the ocean and unites loving hearts.
The next song, “The Bugle,” is regarded by many as the finest lyric that has been written since the days of Shakespeare. Its real meaning is frequently not grasped by the casual reader. It is based upon the contrast between the echoes of a bugle on a mountain lake, which grow fainter and fainter in proportion to the receding distance, and the influence of soul upon soul through growing distances of time:
“The splendor falls on castle walls
And snowy summits old in story:
The long light shakes across the lakes,
And the wild cataract leaps in glory.
Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying,
Blow, bugle; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying.