Classic Poem

The digger leaned upon his spade amazed,
And pressed his hand upon his laboring brain;
All speechless on the mystery he gazed,
Then rubbed his gloating eyes, and looked again,
The certainty thereof to ascertain;
It melted into moonlight—it was gone!
And, slowly as it passed, a solemn strain
Yet, sweet as those by airy pipers blown,
Alarmed him with the wild enchantment of its tone.