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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/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">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! </div><div style="margin:10px 0">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. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">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. </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Charles+Harpur">Charles Harpur</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=354923" data-title="To an Echo on the Banks of the Hunter de Charles Harpur" data-description="I hear thee, echo! And I start to hear thee 
 With a strange shock, as from among the hills 
Thy voice, reverbering in swift murmurs near me, 
 Dies down the stream, or with its gurgle low 
 Blends whisperingly, until my bosom thrills 
With gentle..."></div>
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