Or make the waters fret and sigh.
Or the golden alders shiver,
That bend to kiss the placid river,
Flowing on and on for ever;
But the little waves seem sleeping,
O'er the pebbles slowly creeping,
That last night were flashing, leaping,
Driven by the restless breeze,
In lines of foam beneath yon trees.
Dress'd in robes of gorgeous hue--