Mellowed by transfiguring haze,
All is like a fairy dream:
Groves and gardens, towns and towers,
Mountain tops and vales between,
As the gods had builded bowers
Scarce concealed and scarcely seen.
Thine no borrowed glories! thine,
Matchless river! are thy own!
O'er thy scenes no false lights shine
From the ages dead and gone.