And waters, gushing from the fountain spring
Of pure enthusiast thought, dimmed my young eyes,
As by the poet borne on unseen wing,
I breathed in fancy ‘neath thy cloudless skies
The summer’s air, and heard her echoed harmonies.
I then but dreamed: thou art before me now
In life, a vision of the brain no more.
I’ve stood upon the wooded mountain’s brow
That beetles high thy lovely valley o’er;
And now, where winds thy river’s greenest shore,