William Wordsworth (Уильям Вордсворт)

* * *

YES, it was the mountain Echo,
Solitary, clear, profound,
Answering to the shouting Cuckoo,
Giving to her sound for sound!

Unsolicited reply
To a babbling wanderer sent;
Like her ordinary cry,
Like--but oh, how different!

Hears not also mortal Life?
Hear not we, unthinking Creatures!
Slaves of folly, love, or strife--
Voices of two different natures?

Have not 'we' too?--yes, we have
Answers, and we know not whence;
Echoes from beyond the grave,
Recognised intelligence!

Such rebounds our inward ear
Catches sometimes from afar--
Listen, ponder, hold them dear;
For of God,--of God they are. 

1. On the Frith of Clyde
2. Suggested at Tyndrum in a Storm
3. The Countess’ Pillar
4. At Bala-sala, Isle of Man
5. Glen Almain; Or, the Narrow Glen

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