| |
| MONA on Snowdon calls: | |
| Hear, thou king of mountains, hear; | |
| Hark, she speaks from all her strings: | |
| Hark, her loudest echo rings; | |
| King of mountains, bend thine ear; | 5 |
| Send thy spirits, send them soon, | |
| Now, when midnight and the moon | |
| Meet upon thy front of snow; | |
| See, their gold and ebon rod, | |
| Where the sober sisters nod, | 10 |
| And greet in whispers sage and slow. | |
| Snowdon, mark! ’t is magic’s hour, | |
| Now the muttered spell hath power,— | |
| Power to rend thy ribs of rock, | |
| And burst thy base with thunder’s shock; | 15 |
| But to thee no ruder spell | |
| Shall Mona use, than those that dwell | |
| In music’s secret cells, and lie | |
| Steeped in the stream of harmony. | |
| Snowdon has heard the strain: | 20 |
| Hark, amid the wondering grove | |
| Other harpings answer clear, | |
| Other voices meet our ear, | |
| Pinions flutter, shadows move, | |
| Busy murmurs hum around, | 25 |
| Rustling vestments brush the ground; | |
| Round and round and round they go, | |
| Through the twilight, through the shade, | |
| Mount the oak’s majestic head, | |
| And gild the tufted mistletoe. | 30 |
| Cease, ye glittering race of light, | |
| Close your wings, and check your flight; | |
| Here, arranged in order due, | |
| Spread your robes of saffron hue: | |
| For lo! with more than mortal fire, | 35 |
| Mighty Mador strikes the lyre: | |
| Hark! he sweeps the master-strings; | |
| Listen all— | |
| |
