Mountain Rill.
Mountain rill, that darkling, sparkling,
Winds and wanders down the hill,
’Mid the rushes, whispering, murmuring,
Oh that I were like the rill!
Mountain ling, whose flower and fragrance
Sorest longing to me bring
To be ever on the mountains—
Oh that I were like the ling!
Mountain bird, whose joyous singing
On the wholesome breeze is heard,
Flitting hither, flitting thither—
Oh that I were like the bird!
Mountain child am I, and lonely
Far from home my song I sing;
But my heart is on the mountain
With the birds amid the ling.