Sweet were its notes, and wild their tone;
And pensive there as I paused alone,
They spake with a mystical voice to me,
The sunlight of vanish'd years recalling
From out the mazy past.
I turned to the cloud-bedappled sky,
To bare-shorn field and gleaming water;
To frost-night herbage, and perishing flower;
While the Robin haunted the yellow bower;
With his faery plumage and jet-black eye,