The wind and the snow, the hail and the rain,
That make so much bustle and noise in vain,
But I'll be as busy as they!"
He flew up, and powdered the mountain's crest;
He lit on the trees, and their boughs he dressed
With diamonds and pearls;—and over the breast
Of the quivering lake he spread
A bright coat of mail, that it need not fear
The glittering point of many a spear
That he hung on its margin, far and near,