Reflected from the lake.
What! does she list the huntsman's horn,
That thus she bounds away?
Turns she, with head erect and proud,
The noisy hounds to bay?
Nay, nay! 'tis but a swift canoe
Shoots from the coppice near;
Its light oars leave a silvery track
Upon the waters clear.
A pale, fair youth, one arm flung round