That decked its banks—and hailed the jocund flow
Of its mellifluous waters, as they go
Meandering in their course. But hark! There fall
Sounds of enchanting music on the breeze.
A spirit’s voice is quivering through the trees.
“Minstrel of a far glorious clime,” it said,
“What hath thy wandering footstep hither led,
To string the lyre these silent haunts among,
Waking the elfin sprites that here reside,
And calling on the genius of the tide