By odours sweet; leaving th' accustomed way,
The valley seek we, where the moonbeams stray,
Like May-flowers newly shed!
The distant streamlets sing
Their vesper hymn.—Is there a voice below
Can give such music, mingled with such woe,
Or can such rapture bring?
In the far wild we hear
That soothing tone its murmurings repeat,
And the more sad, the sweeter, as is meet