Where small birds reel and winds take their delight!

Water is beautiful, but not like air:

See, where the solid azure waters lie

Made as of thickened air, and down below,

The fern-ranks like a forest spread themselves

As though each pore could feel the element;

Where the quick glancing serpent winds his way,

Float with me there, Pauline!—but not like air.

Down the hill! Stop—a clump of trees, see, set

On a heap of rock, which look o'er the far plain: