276 Many a phrase has the English language I have heard but one Low as the laughter of the Cricket Loud, as the Thunder's Tongue Murmuring, like old Caspian Choirs When the Tide's a' lull Saying itself in new infection Like a Whippoorwill Breaking in bright Orthography On my simple sleep Thundering its Prospective Till I stir, and weep Not for the Sorrow, done me But the push of Joy Say it again, Saxton! Hush—Only to me!