Song. Where eagle calls to waterfalls, Where pines o’er chasms weep, The rains have made a mad cascade To thunder down the steep. Where lilies nod their gentle heads, Where grass is long in May, There runs a river in the meads— Too fast it runs away. But where the gales drive moaning sails O’er seas that gloom and gleam, Across a bar the waves make war ’Gainst one persistent stream. Too far, O river, strained thy force ! Thou ne’er shalt know again The lilies of thy middle course, The quiet of the plain. Israel Davis .