Who, as the eve spreads darkly o’er the plain,
Returning, leads his cattle back again.
I love the river at that moonlight hour
When all bad spirits lose their evil power;
Calmly and holily she rides on high,
The waves soft murmur and the zephyrs sigh.
But most I love thee, O my gentle River!
When at glad morn the mists around thee quiver;
When round and o’er thee the faint-flowing veil
Now falls, now rises with the swelling gale.