Shed o’er the stream their flickering fires.
Now from cool groves, whose mellow shades
No prying ray of light invades,
The low, fond cooings of the dove
Tell ’tis the hour of peace and love;
And light-winged zephyrs gently play
O’er the Mimosa’s quivering spray.
The setting sun its parting gleam
Sheds over Gunga’s sacred stream,
Which seems to blush as waning light