And more than echoes talk along the walls.

And more than echoes talk along the walls.

Even Echo speaks not on these radiant moors.
- Barry Cornwall (pseudonym of Bryan Waller Procter),

Even Echo speaks not on these radiant moors.
- Barry Cornwall (pseudonym of Bryan Waller Procter),

The melancholy ghosts of dead renown,
Whispering faint echoes of the world's applause.

The melancholy ghosts of dead renown,
Whispering faint echoes of the world's applause.

Our echoes roll from soul to soul,
And grow for ever and for ever.
Blow, bugle, blow, read more

Our echoes roll from soul to soul,
And grow for ever and for ever.
Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying,
And answer, echoes, answer, dying, dying, dying.

What would it profit thee to be the first
Of echoes, tho thy tongue should live forever,
read more

What would it profit thee to be the first
Of echoes, tho thy tongue should live forever,
A thing that answers, but hath not a thought
As lasting but as senseless as a stone.

And a million horrible bellowing echoes broke
From the red-ribb'd hollow behind the wood,
And thunder'd up read more

And a million horrible bellowing echoes broke
From the red-ribb'd hollow behind the wood,
And thunder'd up into Heaven.

Lost Echo sits amid the voiceless mountains,
And feeds her grief.

Lost Echo sits amid the voiceless mountains,
And feeds her grief.

Multitudinous echoes awoke and died in the distance.
. . . .
And, when the echoes had read more

Multitudinous echoes awoke and died in the distance.
. . . .
And, when the echoes had ceased, like a sense of pain was the
silence.

Let echo, too, perform her part,
Prolonging every note with art;
And in a low expiring strain,
read more

Let echo, too, perform her part,
Prolonging every note with art;
And in a low expiring strain,
Play all the comfort o'er again.