And intermingling fear:
_The Voices of the Night!_

Not such as softly rise
When boughs with song o'erflow,
And lover's vows and sighs,
Like incense breathe below;
Not such as warm his breast,
Whose fever'd anxious brain
Toils when all else hath rest,
To bring the _lost_ again!

But the owl's boding shriek,
The death-cry of his prey;
The tongues that durst not speak
In bright unslumb'ring day;
The murd'rer's curses fell,
His quiv'ring victim's groan;
The mutt'red, moody spell
Which rocks ABADDON'S throne!

The song of winds that sweep
Impetuously around
Our rolling sphere, and keep
Up conferences profound;
The music of the sea,
When battling waves run mad;
Far sweeter there may be,
But none so wild and sad.