O gentle Nature, do I turn to thee....
A garden by the mountain side
Is mine, whose flowery blossoming
Shews, even in spring's luxuriant pride,
What Autumn's suns shall bring:
And from mountain's lofty crown
A clear and sparkling rill comes tumbling down;
Then, pausing in its downward force
The venerable trees among,
It gurgles on its winding course;