When winds are blowing strong. The traveller slaked
His thirst from rill or gushing fount, and thanked
The Naiad.[FM] Sunbeams, upon distant hills
Gliding apace, with shadows in their train,
Might, with small help from fancy, be transformed
Into fleet Oreads[FM] sporting visibly.
The Zephyrs[FM] fanning, as they passed, their wings,
Lacked not, for love, fair objects whom they wooed
With gentle whisper. Withered boughs grotesque,
Stripped of their leaves and twigs by hoary age,