Song.
Where eagle calls to
waterfalls,1
Where pines o’er chasms weep,2
The rains have made a mad cascade3
To thunder down the steep.4
Where lilies nod their gentle heads,5
Where grass is long in May,6
There runs a river in the meads—7
Too fast it runs away.8
But where the gales drive moaning sails9
O’er seas that gloom and gleam,10
Across a bar the waves make war11
’Gainst one persistent stream.12
Too far, O river, strained thy force !13
Thou ne’er shalt know again14
The lilies of thy middle course,15
The quiet of the plain.16