# National Lyrics, and Songs for Music/The Swan and the Sky Lark

THE SWAN AND THE SKY-LARK.
Adieu, adieu! my plaintive anthem fades  Past the near meadows, over the still stream, Up the hill-side; and now 'tis buried deep  In the next valley-glades. Keats.
Higher still and higher  From the earth thou springest Like a cloud of fire;  The blue deep thou wingest,
Shelley.
Midst the long reeds that o'er a Grecian stream Unto the faint wind sigh'd melodiously, And where the sculpture of a broken shrine Sent out, thro' shadowy grass and thick wild flowers,
Dim alabaster gleams—a lonely Swan Warbled his death-chaunt; and a poet stood Listening to that strange music, as it shook The lilies on the wave; and made the pines And all the laurels of the haunted shore Thrill to its passion. Oh! the tones were sweet, Ev'n painfully—as with the sweetness rung From parting love; and to the Poet's thought This was their language.
"Summer, I depart! O light and laughing summer, fare thee well! No song the less thro' thy rich woods will swell,  For one, one broken heart.
 And fare ye well, young flowers! Ye will not mourn! ye will shed odour still, And wave in glory, colouring every rill,  Known to my youth's fresh hours.
And ye, bright founts, that lie Far in the whispering forests, lone and deep, My wing no more shall stir your shadowy sleep—  —Sweet waters! I must die.
 Will ye not send one tone Of sorrow thro' the pines?—one murmur low? Shall not the green leaves from your voices know  That I, your child, am gone?
 No, ever glad and free! Ye have no sounds a tale of death to tell, Waves, joyous waves, flow on, and fare ye well!  Ye will not mourn for me.
 But thou, sweet boon, too late Pour'd on my parting breath, vain gift of song! Why com'st thou thus, o'ermastering, rich and strong,  In the dark hour, of fate?
Only to wake the sighs Of echo-voices from their sparry cell; Only to say—O sunshine and blue skies!  O life and love, farewell!"
Thus flow'd the death-chaunt on; while mournfully Low winds and waves made answer, and the tones Buried in rocks along the Grecian stream, Rocks and dim caverns of old Prophecy, Woke to respond: and all the air was fill'd With that one sighing sound—"Farewell, Farewell!" —Fill'd with that sound? high in the calm blue heaven Ev'n then a Sky-lark hung; soft summer clouds Were floating round him, all transpierced with light, And midst that pearly radiance his dark wings Quiver'd with song:—such free triumphant song, As if tears were not,—as if breaking hearts Had not a place below—and thus that strain Spoke to the Poet's ear exultingly.
"The summer is come; she hath said, 'Rejoice!' The wild woods thrill to her merry voice; Her sweet breath is wandering around, on high; —Sing, sing thro' the echoing sky!
"There is joy in the mountains; the bright waves leap, Like the bounding stag when he breaks from sleep; Mirthfully, wildly, they flash along— —Let the heavens ring with song!
"There is joy in the forests; the bird of night Hath made the leaves tremble with deep delight; But mine is the glory to sunshine given— Sing, sing thro' the echoing heav'n!
"Mine are the wings of the soaring morn, Mine are the fresh gales with day-spring born: Only young rapture can mount so high— —Sing, sing thro' the echoing sky!"
So those two voices met; so Joy and Death Mingled their accents; and amidst the rush Of many thoughts, the listening Poet cried, —"Oh! thou art mighty, thou art wonderful, Mysterious Nature! Not in thy free range Of woods and wilds alone, thou blendest thus The dirge-note and the song of festival; But in one heart, one changeful human heart —Aye, and within one hour of that strange world— Thou call'st their music forth, with all its tones To startle and to pierce!—the dying Swan's, And the glad Sky-Lark's—Triumph and Despair!"