The precious gift of hearing.[IT] He grew up
From year to year in loneliness of soul;
And this deep mountain-valley was to him
Soundless, with all its streams.[IU] The bird of dawn
Did never rouse this Cottager from sleep
With startling summons; not for his delight
The vernal cuckoo shouted; not for him
Murmured the labouring bee. When stormy winds
Were working the broad bosom of the lake
Into a thousand thousand sparkling waves,