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The echo is a re-percussion or reflected sound, and is sometimes repeated several times, always growing fainter in each reverberation.

When giving imitations of this in recitations, it is simply necessary, after speaking the word to be echoed, to pause long enough for the supposed sound to return from a distance; then utter it in a softer tone of voice, making it softer and less distinct in each repetition.

"Gitché Man'ito, the mighty!'
Cried he with his face uplifted
In that bitter hour of anguish,
'Give your children food, O father!
Give us food, or we must perish!
Give me food for Minnehaha,
For my dying MINNEHAHA!'
Through the far-resounding forest,
Through the forest vast and vacant
Rang that cry of desolation;
But there came no other answer
Than the echo of his crying,

Than the echo of the woodlands,-
[Echo.] Minnehaha !--Minnehaha !"


The splendor falls on castle-walls,

And snowy summits old in story;
The long light shakes across the lakes,

And the wild cataract leaps in glory.
Blow, bugle, blow; set the wild echoes flying:
Blow, bugle, blow; answer, echoes, dying,-dying,—dying.


dying, dying.

(Bcbo.) Blow,



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Oh, hark! Oh, hear/ how thinand clear,

And thinner,-clearer, farther going!
Oh! sweet and far, from cliff and scar,

The horns of Elf-landfaintly blowing!
Blow; let us hear the purple glens replying:
Blow, bugle ;-answer, echoes, dying,-dying, dying.

[Echo as above.) O love !—they die—in yon rich sky,

They faint-on field, on hill, on river;
Our echoes-roll—from soul—to soul,

And grow-forever-and FOREVER.
Blow, bugle,--blow; set the wild echoes flying,
And answer,mechoes, answer, dying,-dying,-dying.

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Echo in the hollow'glen,

Wake ye from your stilly sleep;
Let us hear your voice again,

Clear and deep. (Echo.) Clear and deep.
Warble for us, Echo, pray! (Echo.) Warble for as, Echo, pray!

Tell-tale spirit, listen ! (Bcho.) Listen!
Now our morning song repeat; (Bcho.) Now our morning song repeat

Answer now, Echo, pray! (Echo.) O pray!


Oh! many and many a day-before we met
I knew-some spirit-walked the world alone,
Awaiting the Belovedfrom afar;
And was the anointed-chosen one
Of all the world—to crown-her queenly brows-
With the imperial crown-of human love,
And light its glory—in her happy eyes.
I saw not-(with mine eyesso full of tears,)
But heardFaith's low-sweet singing—in the night,
And,- (groping-through the darkness,) touched God's hand.
I knewmy sunshine—somewhere-warmed the world,
Though E-trode—darkling—in a perilous way;
And I should reach it-in His own-good time,
Who sendeth sun, -and dew,—and love-for all :
My heart-might toil onblindly, but,-(like earth,) –
It kept sure footingthrough the thickest gloom.
Earth,-(with her thousand voices,) talked of thee;-
Sweet winds,--and whispering leaves, and piping birds;
The trickling sun-light and the flashing dews ;
Eve's crimson air—and light of twinkling gold;
Spring's kindled greenery, and her breath of balm;
The happy humand stir-of summer woods,
And the light dropping—of the silver rain.
Thine eyes-oped with their rainy lightsand laughters,
In April's tearful heaven-of tender blue,
With all the changeful beauty—melting through them,
And dawn—and sunset_ended-in thy face.
And standing, -as in God's own presence-chamber,
When silence-lay like sleep—upon the world,
And it seemed rich—to die-alone-with night,
Like Moses'neath the kisses-of God's lips,
The stars—have trembled—thro' the holy hush,
And smiled down tenderly,—and said to me-
The love-hid for me—in a budding breast,
Like incense-folded in a young flower's heart.
Strong—as a sea-swell-came the wave of wings,-
Strange trouble-trembled thro' my inner depths,


And answering wings—have sprung within my soul; And—from the dumb, -waste places—of the dark A voice has breathed—“She comes !” and ebb'd again; While all my life-stood listening—for thy coming. Oh! I have guessed—thy presence, out of sight, And felt it-in the beating-of my heart ! When allwas dark-within-sweet thoughts would come, As starry guests—come-golden-down the gloom, And thro' night's lattice-smile a rare delight; While, (lifted—for the dear—and distant dawn,) The face of all things—wore a happy light, Like those dream-smiles—which are the speech of sleep. Thus-love-lived on,—and strengthen'dwith the days, Lit—by its own true light-within my heart, Like a live diamond—burning-in the dark. Thencame there One, –a mirageof the dawn. She swam on toward me—in her sumptuous triumph, Voluptuously upborne,-(like Aphrodite,) Upon a meadowy swellof emerald sea. A ripe,-serene-smile,-affluent graciousness, – Hung,-(like a shifting radiance,)-on her motion, As bickering hues-upon the dove's neck-burn. Her lip—might flush a wrinkled lifein bloom ! Her eyes were an omnipotence-of love! “Oh, yes !—(I said, “if such-your glories be, Sure—'t is a warm heart-feedeth ye-with light." The silver throbbing—of her laughter-pulsed The air-with music-rich-and resonant, As—from the deep heart—of a summer night Some bird,—(in sudden sparklingsof fine sound, ) Hurries its startled beinginto song; And, (from her sumptuous wealth-of golden hairUnto the delicate-pearly finger-tip) Fresh beauty-trembled from its thousand springs: And,-(standing in the outer porch of life) All eager-for the tempted mysteries, With a rich heart—as full of fragrant loveAs May's musk-roses are—of morning's wine, What marvel-if I questioned not her brow, For the flame-signet—of the hand divine, Or gauged it—for the crown—of my large love ? I plungedto clutch the pearl-of her babbling beauty, Like some swift diver—in a shallow stream, That smites his life out-on its heart of stone. Ah! how my life did run—with fire-and tears! With what a Titan-pulse-my love did beat! But she,(rose-lined-without-God pity her!) Was cold-at heart—as snow—in last year's nest,

And struck,-(like death,)-into my burning brain.
My tears—(th't rained out life) she froze-in falling,
And wore them,-(jewel-like,)—to deck her triumph!
But love-is never lost, -tho' hearts run waste;
Its tidesmay gush'mid swirling, --swathing deserts,
Where no green leaf-drinks up precious life;
Yet love doth-(evermore)—enrich itself;
Its bitterest waters-run some-golden sands!
No star-goes down—but climbs—in other skies;
The rose-of sunset-folds its glory up
To burst again—from out the heart of dawn;
And love—is never lost,-tho' hearts run waste,
And sorrow-makes the chasten'd heart—a seer;
The deepest dark-reveals the starriest hope,-
And Faith-can trust her heaven-behind-the veil.


All thoughts,—all passions,—all delights,

Whatever-stirs—this mortal frame,
All are—but ministers—of Love,

And feed_his sacred flame.
Oftin my waking dreams—do I

Live o'er again—that happy hour,
When-(midway) on the mount I lay

Beside the ruin'd tower.

The moonshinem(stealing o'er the scene)

Had blended—with the lights of eve;
And she was there, (my hope,-my joy!)

My own—dear Genevieve!
She leaned-against the armed man,

The statue of the armed knight;
She stood—and listen'd—to my lay

Amid the lingering light.
Few sorrows-hath she of her own,

My hope! my joy! my Genevieve !
She loves me best-whene'er I sing

The songs—th't make her grievè.
I played a soft--and doleful air,

I sang an oldand moving story,--
An oldrude song, th't suited well

That ruin-wild-and hoary.
She listened—with a flitting blush,

With downcast eyes and modest grace;
For well she knew I could not choose

But gaze-upon her face.

I told her—of the Knightthat wore

Upon his shieldma burning brand;
And-th't (for ten long years)—he wooed

The Lady-of the Land.
I told her-how he pined :-and, ah!

The low,—the deep,—the pleading tone-
With which–I sang another's love,

Interpretedmy own.
She listen' dwith a flitting blush,

With downcast eyesand modest grace;
And she forgave me—th't I gazed

Too fondlyon her face.
But-when I told--the cruel scorn

Which crazed—this boldand lovely Knight, And—that he cross'd—the mountain-woods,

Nor rested--day--nor night;
But sometimes—from the savage den,

And—sometimes—from the darksome shade, And—sometimes-starting up-(at once) -

In green—and sunny glade, -
There came and look'd him--(in the face)

An angel-beautiful--and bright!
And-th't he knew it was a Fiend-

(This miserable Knight!)
And--th't, unknowing--what he did,

He leaped amid a murderous band,-
And saved from outrageworse than death

The Lady--of the Land;
And—how she wept--and clasp'd his knees,

And-how she tended him--in vain, --
And-ever-strove to expiate

The scorn-th't crazed his brain; And-th't she nursed him—in a cave;

And-how his madness--went away
When--(on the yellow forest-leaves)-

A dying man—he lay;
His dying words,—but when I reached

That tenderest strain--of all the ditty,
My faltering voice—and pausing harp

Disturbed her soul with pity! All impulses-of souland sense

Had thrilledmy guileless Genevieve ! The music—and the doleful tale,

The rich—and balmy eve;

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