Note 31 — Chapter V

Moore:—

“Is this the region then, is this the clime

For soaring fancies? for those dreams sublime,

Which all their miracles of light reveal

To heads that meditate and hearts that feel?

Alas! not so—the Muse of nature lights

Her glories round; she scales the mountain heights,

And roams the forests; every wondrous spot

Burns with her step, yet man regards it not.

She whispers round, her words are in the air,

But lost, unheard, they linger freezing there,

Without one breath of soul, divinely strong,

One ray of mind, to thaw them into song.”

—Epistle to the Hon. W. R. Spencer, from Buffalo, upon Lake Erie.