Wild shadowy forms, that on yon frowning steep,
Wrapped in the sable robe of darkness, dwell,
Raise ye the plaintive notes that softly swell
In the light breeze that lingers o'er the deep ?
Is it the powerful magic of the mind
That frames the sounds that seem to meet mine ear ?
Or say, do Bards and Druids, wandering here,
Pour their strange songs upon the passing wind ?
Fancy! thou wild enthusiast, if thy spell
Alone awake the strains of ages past,
Still let me hear thy visionary shell,
In solemn sweetness join the midnight blast:
And still when deepening shades yon mountain shroud
Bid heroes ride sublime amid the passing cloud.