Through winding paths, that never saw the sun,
Where Eildon hides his roots in caverns dun,
They pass,—the hollow pavement, as they go,
Rocks to remurmuring waves, that boil below;
Silent they wade, where sounding torrents lave
The banks, and red the tinge of every wave;
For all the blood, that dyes the warrior's hand,
Runs through the thirsty springs of Fairy land.
Level and green the downward region lies,
And low the cieling of the fairy skies;