VI.

Or thro’ the mystic ringlets of the vale We flash our faery feet in gamesome prank; Or, silent-sandalled, pay our defter court Circling the spirit of the western gale, Where, wearied with his flower-caressing sport, Supine he slumbers on a violet bank! Then with quaint music hymn the parting gleam, By lonely Otter’s sleep-persuading stream; Or where his wave with loud unquiet song Dashed o’er the rocky channel froths along; Or where, his silver waters smoothed to rest, The tall tree’s shadow sleeps upon his breast.