Here scolds the river, thus in foam to break,
Then slow meanders down the dim afar,
Toward the spread waters of the sleeping lake,
Where smiles in azure the fair evening star.
To these crowned summits—dim old colonnades—
The gentle twilight still a last ray lends,
E'en while the cloud-car of the queen of shades
White o'er yon far horizon's verge ascends.
Spreading through all the air, with gothic swell,
Soft sounds of worship bid the ear attend;