Now making music soft ’mong granite stones,
O’er-mantled with bright moss of green and gold;
Now stealing dreamlike, through deep sunless shades,
Where never ripple ruffled its cool breast.
Thus flowing sea-ward in its chequered course
Till where a deep dark chasm twixt two hills
All unexpected opens to the view.
There at the verge divided into twain
It plunges down into the gloom profound
Where noise and mist and wild confusion reign.