Afar. Along the black hill’s side,
Right blithe of heart the wanderers go,
While that soft radiance, far and wide,
Gleams on the winding streams and woods below.
And gaily for the fragile bark,
Through the green waves its path is shorn,
When all the murmurs of the dark
Cold sea lie calm’d beneath that gliding horn.
Yet hail, ye glittering streaks, that lie
The eastern mountain tops upon!