They sink, they rise, and sparkling cover all
With infinite refulgence; while its song,
Sublime as thunder, rolls the woods along,—
Rolls through the woods,—they send its accents back,
Whose last vibration in the desert dies:
Its radiance glances o’er the watery track,
Till the soft wave, as wrapt in slumber, lies
Beneath the forest shade; then sweetly flows
A milky stream, all silent, as it goes.
Its foam is scattered on the margent bound,