What is that which stirs the alders
When no ripple tells of wind?
What sends Mistress Salmo darting
Underneath the stones in fear?—
Crying, "Hide yourselves, my darlings!
Our worst enemy is near!"
"I am bound to understand it,"
Says one self-proud speckle-side;
"When I see the danger's real,
Then, if need be, I can hide."