While caves responded to its muttering song,
To distant-rising Avon as it sped,
Where, among hills, the river show'd his head.
Engarlanded with crowns of osier-weeds,
And wreaths of alders of a pleasant scent.
"Then from the distant stream arose a maid,
Whose gentle tresses moved not to the wind.
Like to the silver moon in frosty night,
The damsel did come on so blithe and bright.
No broider'd mantle of a scarlet hue,