That bringeth silence unto all beside,
With the deep majesty of its repose,
Calms not the tumult of thy rushing tide,
Thou monarch cataract! thy mighty voice
Goes up to God from out the silent night,
And the wild waters, hurrying to thy grasp,
Rush madly onward 'neath the moon's pale light.
He who would visit Europe's ruined fanes
Must look upon them 'neath the stars of night;
The crowded city's haunts of noise and wealth