In my soul awakened echoes that had long been slumb’ring there;
’Twas a harmony angelic, that her spirit caught at birth,
And she poured it out in mellow floods, as one of common worth.
Straight she hied her to a fountain, that lay sleeping in the glen—
’Twas a fountain hidden deeply from the common gaze of men;
Greenest mosses grew about it, walling up its crystal wealth,
Save a silver ribbon that escaped its velvet lip by stealth.
On its smooth and argent surface fell the tears that Dryads wept;
In its deep, unruffled bosom sweetest dreams serenely slept;
Not a human face could ever have intruded on the calm