A thousand trills and quivering sounds In airy circles o'er us fly, Till, wafted by a gentle breeze, They faint and languish by degrees, And at a distance die.

And filled the air with barbarous dissonance.

I did never know so full a voice issue from so empty a heart; but the saying is true, 'The empty vessel makes the greatest sound.'

My eyes are dim with childish tears, My heart is idly stirred, For the same sound is in my ears Which in those days I heard.

Parent of sweetest sounds, yet mute forever.

Sonorous metal blowing martial sounds, At which the universal host up sent A shout that tore hell's concave, and beyond Frighted the reign of Chaos and old Night.

The sound must seem an echo to the sense.

Their rising all at once was as the sound Of thunder heard remote.

What's the business, That such a hideous trumpet calls to parley The sleepers of the house? Speak, speak!