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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=354923" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>To an Echo on the Banks of the Hunter</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=354923" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">I hear thee, echo! And I start to hear thee <br> With a strange shock, as from among the hills <br>Thy voice, reverbering in swift murmurs near me, <br> Dies down the stream, or with its gurgle low <br> Blends whisperingly, until my bosom thrills <br>With gentle tribulations that endear thee, <br> But speak not of the present. Twas as though <br>Some spirit of the past were then a-near thee, <br>Bringing back days of life’s regretted spring, <br> Waking wild recollections, to evince <br>How strong the ties that bind me to each thing <br> Loved, though long since. <br>It seems but yesterday that last I stood <br> Beside the Hawksbury, even as now I stand <br>By the swift Hunter, challenging o’er the flood <br>An echo thus; but with a glorious brood <br> Of hopes then glowing round me, and a band <br>Of schoolmates and young creatures of my blood, <br> All quick with joyousness beyond command, <br> And now, with that delightful time, O! Where <br>Are those quick joys, glad mates, and hopes of good? <br> Echo, declare! </a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=354923" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Thy voice comes o’er the waters in reply, <br> To fail as soon! And all those young delights <br>Decayed (as thy peculiar accents die) <br> In the dusk valleys of past days and nights <br>To be renewed not, like thy ghostly chide; <br> And one to the other of those joyous creatures, <br>Now burthened with their manhoods, in the wide <br> World’s separations, have the names and features <br>Thus wasted out of mind. And so, at last, <br>Those glorious hopes are all become but lonely <br> And dying echoes of the hollow past, <br> All but one only. </a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=354923" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">E’en that around my being only strays <br>Like a recurring sound. In lonesome ways’ <br> Like these it moves me still; not as of yore <br>In clear, strong tones, though yet its spirit plays <br> Upon the same old promise: that, when o’er <br>My country’s homes shine fair those riper days, <br>Her better sons shall learn to prize <br> My lonely voice upon the past, <br> And so, there may at last <br>From time’s dim void, an echo, thence arise, <br> Responsive to the swell <br>Of their full souls beneath these Austral skies. </a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=354923" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><br></a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=Charles+Harpur">Charles Harpur</a></strong></div>