At earthquakes, hurricanes, or hail;
The rolling thunder's fiery car
Has never dared my form to mar;
I've heard its rumbling undismayed,
While forked lightnings round me played;
But O, thou little murm'ring brook,
How mean and meager is thy look;—
Babbling, babbling, all day long,—
How I detest thy simple song.
I would not have thee in my sight,