With the soft laughter of her flowery meads;
Her joys, her melodies, the prancing stag
Flutters the shivering fern; the steed shakes out
His mane, the dewy herbage, silver-webb’d,
With frank step trampling; the wild goat looks down
From his empurpling bed of heath, where break
The waters deep and blue, with crystal gleams
Of their quick-leaping people; the fresh lark
Is in the morning sky; the nightingale
Tunes evensong to the dropping waterfall.