Here, Echo, was thy reign of old, br Among these hills, a mystic crowd br Whose thunder rolled br When they speak loud br Still shocks the sea: here thy hair grew br Long as a cloud whose shadow drew br Itself o'er chaos, ere Time rose br With life and death and all of those br Who live and die, whose weakest word br Thine ears have heard; br Still as thou sitt'st with sightless eyes br On a bright cloud in the lone vale, br Or leaning o'er a mountain rill br Dost hark the ebbing roar br Of a dead sea on some primeval shore, br Whose unrecorded memories br Are like the language of old gods who fell br From some starred pinnacle br In the lost years — as all things will br Too fall at last, and the great tale br Of Time be never more retold; br Ay, e'en when chaos is re-rolled br O'er the opprest and the oppressor, thou br (Unseen, and but a word within that wail) br Shalt pass as in a trance where thought may go br When all is lying low.