Beside an aldered stream,
To list thy lady's evening hymn,
'Neath starlight's trembling gleam.
'Tis sweet to sit within a bower,
Inwrought with flower and vine,
What time along yon mountain tower,
The shades of eve decline.
'Tis sweet to hear the nightingale,
O'erflow the forest shade,
With harmony which might avail,