Written
at
Killarney
.
July
,
20
1800.
How
soft
the
pause
!
the
notes
melodious
cease
,
Which
from
each
feeling
could
an
echo
call
;
Rest
on
your
oars
;
that
not
a
sound
may
fall
To
interrupt
the
stillness
of
our
peace
:
The
fanning
west-wind
breathes
upon
our
cheeks
Yet
glowing
with
the
sun's
departed
beams
.
Through
the
blue
heavens
the
cloudless
moon
pours
streams
Of
pure
resplendent
light
,
in
silver
streaks
Reflected
on
the
still
,
unruffled
lake
.
The
Alpine
hills
in
solemn
silence
frown
,
While
the
dark
woods
night's
deepest
shades
embrown
.
And
now
once
more
that
soothing
strain
awake
!
Oh
,
ever
to
my
heart
,
with
magic
power
,
Shall
those
sweet
sounds
recal
this
rapturous
hour
!