Inlets with thickets overhung,
The cloud’s rose-tint or fleecy pile,
And Echo’s wildly frolic tongue;
The light and shade that o’er thee play
The ripple of thy moonlit wave,
The long, calm, dreamy summer day,
The very stones thy waters lave;
The converse frank, the harmless jest,
The reverie without a sigh,
The hammock’s undulating rest,