THE THIRD
And when the stag on the ground I saw,
I merrily wound my horn—trara!
Conversing thus did the huntsmen lie,
When lo! the white hart came bounding by;
And before the huntsmen had noted him well,
He was up and away over mountain and dell!—
Hush, hush!—bing, bang!—trara!
* * * * *
THE LOST CHURCH[26] (1812)
When one into the forest goes,
A music sweet the spirit blesses;
But whence it cometh no one knows,
Nor common rumor even guesses.
From the lost Church those strains must swell
That come on all the winds resounding;
The path to it now none can tell,
That path with pilgrims once abounding.
As lately, in the forest, where
No beaten path could be discover'd,
All lost in thought, I wander'd far,
Upward to God my spirit hover'd.
When all was silent round me there,
Then in my ears that music sounded;
The higher, purer, rose my prayer,
The nearer, fuller, it resounded.
Upon my heart such peace there fell,
Those strains with all my thoughts so blended,
That how it was I cannot tell
That I so high that hour ascended.
It seem'd a hundred years and more
That I had been thus lost in dreaming,
When, all earth's vapors op'ning o'er,
A free large place stood, brightly beaming.
The sky it was so blue and bland,
The sun it was so full and glowing,
As rose a minster vast and grand,
The golden light all round it flowing.
The clouds on which it rested seem'd
To bear it up like wings of fire;
Piercing the heavens, so I dream'd,
Sublimely rose its lofty spire.