Adown the narrow stream, at first, we glide
Thro' fruits and flowers that fringe the grassy side.
The playful murmurings of its windings seem
Soft, as the far-off music of a dream,
Over our heads the trees their blossoms shed,
Flowers on the brink their mingled odours shed.
Beauty around, above us, Hope within;
Eager we grasp each dazzling charm to win.
But hurried on and on, we ne'er can stay
Our little bark to anchor or delay.