And the resounding shore,
A voice of weeping heard and loud lament.
From haunted spring, and dale
Edg’d with poplar pale,
The parting genius is with sighing sent.
With flower-inwoven tresses torn,
The Nymphs in twilight shade of tangled thicket mourn.”
Seldom has Milton sung in loftier strains than this. What a magnificent line is that:
“The wakeful trump of doom shall thunder through the deep.”
The poet evidently had his eye on that wonderful verse of the Dies Iræ: