By Elva’s stream, in Elva’s deepest dell,
Where oaks and larches bend their heads above,
And flowering shrubs beneath are thickly wove,
While through the boughs, in many a broken beam,
Dances the sunlight on the sparkling stream;
There, when my guardian’s eyes I can elude,
I sometimes steal and sit with solitude;
But all too dreadful is the contrast there,
Where hope lies tombed and guarded by despair,
To the dear joys, all passionate and wild,