Presiding spirit of the sparkling flood,
Of heavenly aspect and serenest mood,
Come at my bidding, with each shining tress
Wet with the spray of the full rushing stream
Thou lov’st to pour beneath the moonlit beam
Come at my bidding, oh immortal maid!
Come from thy grotto, ’neath the wavelets made
Far, far below, wrought of the treasures there,
Mocking the eagerness of mortal eye
As much as the far glories of the sky.