ECHO

Related Subjects: Imitation, Sound, Voice

1. Let echo, too, perform her part,
   Prolonging every note with art;
   And in a low expiring strain,
   Play all th' concert o'er again.—ADDISON, Ode for St. Cecilia's Day
   

2. Hark! to the hurried question of Despair:
   "Where is my child?" An Echo answers—
   "Where?"—BYRON, The Bride of Abydos
   

3. Even Echo speaks not on these radiant moors.—BARRY CORNWALL, English Songs and Other Small Poems
   

4. Mysterious haunts of echoes old and far,
   The voice divine of human loyalty.—GEORGE ELIOT, The Spanish Gypsy
   

5. Echo is the voice of a reflection in the mirror.—HAWTHORNE, American Note-Books
   

6. And when the echoes had ceased, like a sense of pain was the silence.—LONGFELLOW, Evangeline
   

7. Sweetest Echo, sweetest nymph, that liv'st unseen
   Within thy airy shell,
   By slow Meander's margent green,
   And in the violet-embroidered vale.—MILTON, Comus
   

8. That tuneful nymph, the babbling echo, who has not learned to conceal what is told her, nor yet is able to speak till another speaks.—OVID
   

9. And more than echoes talk along the walls.—POPE, Eloisa to Abelard
   

10. It seemed the harmonious echo
    From our discordant life.—ADELAIDE A. PROCTER, The Lost Chord
    

11. Thy hounds shall make the welkin answer them,
    And fetch shrill echoes from the hollow earth.—SHAKESPEARE, The Taming of the Shrew
    

12. The babbling echo mocks the hounds,
    Replying shrilly to the well-tun'd horns,
    As if a double hunt were heard at once.—SHAKESPEARE, Titus Andronicus
    

13. Halloo your name to the reverberate hills,
    And make the babbling gossip of the air
    Cry out, "Olivia."—SHAKESPEARE, Twelfth Night
    

14. Lost Echo sits among the voiceless mountains.
    And feeds her grief.—SHELLEY, Adonais
    

15. Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying,
    And answer, echoes, answer, dying, dying, dying.—TENNYSON, The Princess
    

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

17. The melancholy ghosts of dead reknown,
    Whispering faint echoes of the world's applause.—EDWARD YOUNG,
    Night Thoughts