And hemlocks every mountain side,
While, by each passing zephyr fanned,
Azalea flowers kiss the tide.
We nestle in the gliding barge,
And turn from yon unclouded sky
To watch, along the bosky marge,
Its image in thy waters nigh;
Or, gently darting to and fro,
The insects on their face explore,
With speckled minnows poised below,