When the Thunder-God is bringing
His crystal showers, to the tinted flowers,
In their sweet profusion springing.
I love the lake in the mountain's lap;
Without a flaw or error
Recording the clouds, which the peaks enwrap,
And the trees, as a crystal mirror;
The wild delights of the mountain heights
Thrill my breast with a keen devotion,
As songbirds love the blue arch above,