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C.N. Douglas, comp.  Forty Thousand Quotations: Prose and Poetical.  1917.
 
Echo
 
  Echo is the voice of a reflection in a mirror.
Hawthorne.    
  1
  The babbling gossip of the air.
Shakespeare.    
  2
  That tuneful nymph, the babbling Echo.
Ovid.    
  3
  The old echoes are long in dying.
Charles H. Parkhurst.    
  4
        Lost Echo sits amid the voiceless mountains,
And feeds her grief.
Shelley.    
  5
        Echo waits with art and care
And will the faults of song repair.
Emerson.    
  6
  The invisible and loquacious maiden of the mountain passes.
Horace Smith.    
  7
  And when the echoes had ceased, like a sense of pain was the silence.
Longfellow.    
  8
  The Jews of old called an echo “the daughter of the voice.”
Bathkeel.    
  9
  The shadow of a sound,—a voice without a mouth, and words without a tongue.
Paul Chatfield.    
  10
                    I heard  *  *  *  
*  *  *  the great echo flap
And buffet round the hills from bluff to bluff.
Tennyson.    
  11
        So plain is the distinction of our words,
That many have supposed it a spirit
That answers.
Webster.    
  12
        Let echo, too, perform her part,
Prolonging every note with art;
And in a low expiring strain,
Play all the comfort o’er again.
Addison.    
  13
        And a million horrible bellowing echoes broke
From the red-ribb’d hollow behind the wood,
And thunder’d up into heaven.
Tennyson.    
  14
        Hark! how the gentle echo from her cell
Talks through the cliffs, and murmuring o’er the stream,
Repeats the accent—we shall part no more.
Akenside.    
  15
        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.    
  16
        O love, they die, in yon rich sky,
They faint on hill or field or river:
Our echoes roll from soul to soul,
And grow forever and forever.
Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying,
And answer, echoes, answer, dying, dying, dying.
Tennyson.    
  17
        How sweet the answer Echo makes
          To music at night,
When, roused by lute or horn, she wakes,
And far away, o’er lawns and lakes,
          Goes answering light.
Moore.    
  18
  Where we find echoes, we generally find emptiness and hollowness; it is the contrary with the echoes of the heart.
J. F. Boyes.    
  19
 
 
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