And thy faint spirit drink the cooling stream,
And thine eye gladden with the playing beam,
That now upon the water dances. Now,
Leaps up and dances in the hanging bough.
Is it not lovely? Tell me, where doth dwell
The power that wrought so beautiful a spell?
In thine own bosom, brother? Then, as thine,
Guard with a reverent fear this power divine,
And if, indeed, ’tis not the outward state,
But temper of the soul, by which we rate