EchoBk.IV.vv. 525-536, 549-596
Bk.IV.vv. 525-536, 549-596
Sound, voice are bodies. Though not for the handTo grasp, sense feels them, acts at their command.They wind into the ear, and strike the drum;Hark! response, as to a conductor’s wand.The voice even can hurt, as fist, or saw.In full volume, hoarse, grating on the jaw,Jostling its way in haste to worry through,It leaves the path it travels rough and raw.And no less bodily a spoken word;When moulded, and dressed, to be rightly heard,And winged by that arch modeller, the tongue,It slips through the lips, and careers, a bird.If the length to be traversed is unfair,Symmetry is marred; speakers must prepareFor dazed confusion in their audience,And only a blurred rumbling in the air.Then set a Herald in a market place.For him thousands of eyes gaze from one face;And he flings at the whole a single word,That each will drink-in as his special grace.It multiplies, and with the hearers; allReceive stamped facsimiles, to recallBoth form and sound, distinct, as that went forth;Each can claim his own for original.Human ears are the goal; and when no earIs reached, after roaming everywhereIn vain for shelter, the poor thing expires,To flit a ghostly leaf, dead, shrunk and sere.Or chance may be that it collides with rock;When—as with pebble that recoils—the shockReturns the voice thither whence it had come,And so unchanged that it appears to mock.Natural the cause, effect; the surprise,When in lone spots a company’s loud criesAfter stragglers on dark hills, bring back noughtBut old words in old order as replies.Where a height faced height, I have known a shoutTo gambol between in a joyous rout,And six or seven times reverberate;Like ball thrown to and fro in play about.Nothing is out of Nature’s course, the modeIn which She acts; but Fancy loves to loadBeing with mysteries; not learn the lawsWithin our ken that rule Earth, our abode.Thus, a charmed husbandman will vigils keep,Imagining far echoes breaking sleep,’Mid silences that seem to hold their breath,To be Pan come, half God, half Beast, with leap,And rustle of his bristly, pine-wreathed head—Drawn lip running o’er shrilling pipe—to leadHis troop, goat-footed Satyrs, Nymphs, and Fauns,Till cliffs and caves reply to chords and reed.He deems that shy Powers, as falls the Dark,In solitudes—no prying crowds to mark—Fill woods and hills with music, wind and stringed,That he hears till the day-star wakes the lark.For ears hear as they list.The world is wide,With wildernesses wherein few abide.Remote from busy marts these joy to dreamSome Gods do not disdain to dwell beside!
Sound, voice are bodies. Though not for the handTo grasp, sense feels them, acts at their command.They wind into the ear, and strike the drum;Hark! response, as to a conductor’s wand.The voice even can hurt, as fist, or saw.In full volume, hoarse, grating on the jaw,Jostling its way in haste to worry through,It leaves the path it travels rough and raw.And no less bodily a spoken word;When moulded, and dressed, to be rightly heard,And winged by that arch modeller, the tongue,It slips through the lips, and careers, a bird.If the length to be traversed is unfair,Symmetry is marred; speakers must prepareFor dazed confusion in their audience,And only a blurred rumbling in the air.Then set a Herald in a market place.For him thousands of eyes gaze from one face;And he flings at the whole a single word,That each will drink-in as his special grace.It multiplies, and with the hearers; allReceive stamped facsimiles, to recallBoth form and sound, distinct, as that went forth;Each can claim his own for original.Human ears are the goal; and when no earIs reached, after roaming everywhereIn vain for shelter, the poor thing expires,To flit a ghostly leaf, dead, shrunk and sere.Or chance may be that it collides with rock;When—as with pebble that recoils—the shockReturns the voice thither whence it had come,And so unchanged that it appears to mock.Natural the cause, effect; the surprise,When in lone spots a company’s loud criesAfter stragglers on dark hills, bring back noughtBut old words in old order as replies.Where a height faced height, I have known a shoutTo gambol between in a joyous rout,And six or seven times reverberate;Like ball thrown to and fro in play about.Nothing is out of Nature’s course, the modeIn which She acts; but Fancy loves to loadBeing with mysteries; not learn the lawsWithin our ken that rule Earth, our abode.Thus, a charmed husbandman will vigils keep,Imagining far echoes breaking sleep,’Mid silences that seem to hold their breath,To be Pan come, half God, half Beast, with leap,And rustle of his bristly, pine-wreathed head—Drawn lip running o’er shrilling pipe—to leadHis troop, goat-footed Satyrs, Nymphs, and Fauns,Till cliffs and caves reply to chords and reed.He deems that shy Powers, as falls the Dark,In solitudes—no prying crowds to mark—Fill woods and hills with music, wind and stringed,That he hears till the day-star wakes the lark.For ears hear as they list.The world is wide,With wildernesses wherein few abide.Remote from busy marts these joy to dreamSome Gods do not disdain to dwell beside!
Sound, voice are bodies. Though not for the handTo grasp, sense feels them, acts at their command.They wind into the ear, and strike the drum;Hark! response, as to a conductor’s wand.
Sound, voice are bodies. Though not for the hand
To grasp, sense feels them, acts at their command.
They wind into the ear, and strike the drum;
Hark! response, as to a conductor’s wand.
The voice even can hurt, as fist, or saw.In full volume, hoarse, grating on the jaw,Jostling its way in haste to worry through,It leaves the path it travels rough and raw.
The voice even can hurt, as fist, or saw.
In full volume, hoarse, grating on the jaw,
Jostling its way in haste to worry through,
It leaves the path it travels rough and raw.
And no less bodily a spoken word;When moulded, and dressed, to be rightly heard,And winged by that arch modeller, the tongue,It slips through the lips, and careers, a bird.
And no less bodily a spoken word;
When moulded, and dressed, to be rightly heard,
And winged by that arch modeller, the tongue,
It slips through the lips, and careers, a bird.
If the length to be traversed is unfair,Symmetry is marred; speakers must prepareFor dazed confusion in their audience,And only a blurred rumbling in the air.
If the length to be traversed is unfair,
Symmetry is marred; speakers must prepare
For dazed confusion in their audience,
And only a blurred rumbling in the air.
Then set a Herald in a market place.For him thousands of eyes gaze from one face;And he flings at the whole a single word,That each will drink-in as his special grace.
Then set a Herald in a market place.
For him thousands of eyes gaze from one face;
And he flings at the whole a single word,
That each will drink-in as his special grace.
It multiplies, and with the hearers; allReceive stamped facsimiles, to recallBoth form and sound, distinct, as that went forth;Each can claim his own for original.
It multiplies, and with the hearers; all
Receive stamped facsimiles, to recall
Both form and sound, distinct, as that went forth;
Each can claim his own for original.
Human ears are the goal; and when no earIs reached, after roaming everywhereIn vain for shelter, the poor thing expires,To flit a ghostly leaf, dead, shrunk and sere.
Human ears are the goal; and when no ear
Is reached, after roaming everywhere
In vain for shelter, the poor thing expires,
To flit a ghostly leaf, dead, shrunk and sere.
Or chance may be that it collides with rock;When—as with pebble that recoils—the shockReturns the voice thither whence it had come,And so unchanged that it appears to mock.
Or chance may be that it collides with rock;
When—as with pebble that recoils—the shock
Returns the voice thither whence it had come,
And so unchanged that it appears to mock.
Natural the cause, effect; the surprise,When in lone spots a company’s loud criesAfter stragglers on dark hills, bring back noughtBut old words in old order as replies.
Natural the cause, effect; the surprise,
When in lone spots a company’s loud cries
After stragglers on dark hills, bring back nought
But old words in old order as replies.
Where a height faced height, I have known a shoutTo gambol between in a joyous rout,And six or seven times reverberate;Like ball thrown to and fro in play about.
Where a height faced height, I have known a shout
To gambol between in a joyous rout,
And six or seven times reverberate;
Like ball thrown to and fro in play about.
Nothing is out of Nature’s course, the modeIn which She acts; but Fancy loves to loadBeing with mysteries; not learn the lawsWithin our ken that rule Earth, our abode.
Nothing is out of Nature’s course, the mode
In which She acts; but Fancy loves to load
Being with mysteries; not learn the laws
Within our ken that rule Earth, our abode.
Thus, a charmed husbandman will vigils keep,Imagining far echoes breaking sleep,’Mid silences that seem to hold their breath,To be Pan come, half God, half Beast, with leap,
Thus, a charmed husbandman will vigils keep,
Imagining far echoes breaking sleep,
’Mid silences that seem to hold their breath,
To be Pan come, half God, half Beast, with leap,
And rustle of his bristly, pine-wreathed head—Drawn lip running o’er shrilling pipe—to leadHis troop, goat-footed Satyrs, Nymphs, and Fauns,Till cliffs and caves reply to chords and reed.
And rustle of his bristly, pine-wreathed head—
Drawn lip running o’er shrilling pipe—to lead
His troop, goat-footed Satyrs, Nymphs, and Fauns,
Till cliffs and caves reply to chords and reed.
He deems that shy Powers, as falls the Dark,In solitudes—no prying crowds to mark—Fill woods and hills with music, wind and stringed,That he hears till the day-star wakes the lark.
He deems that shy Powers, as falls the Dark,
In solitudes—no prying crowds to mark—
Fill woods and hills with music, wind and stringed,
That he hears till the day-star wakes the lark.
For ears hear as they list.The world is wide,With wildernesses wherein few abide.Remote from busy marts these joy to dreamSome Gods do not disdain to dwell beside!
For ears hear as they list.
The world is wide,
With wildernesses wherein few abide.
Remote from busy marts these joy to dream
Some Gods do not disdain to dwell beside!