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One spirit animating old and young,
A gypsy fire we kindled on the shore
Of the fair Isle with birch-trees fringed—and there
Merrily seated in a ring, partook
The beverage drawn from China's fragrant herb.
—Launched from our hands the smooth stone skimmed the Lake;
With shouts we roused the echoes;—stiller sounds
The lovely Girl supplied—a simple song,
Whose low tones reached not to the distant rocks
To be repeated there, but gently sank
Into our hearts; and charmed the peaceful flood.
Rapaciously we gathered flowery spoils
From land and water; Lillies of each hue—
Golden and white, that float upon the waves
And court the wind; and leaves of that shy Plant,
(Her flowers were shed) the Lilly of the Vale,
That loves the ground, and from the sun withholds
Her pensive beauty, from the breeze her sweets.
Such product, and such pastime did the place
And season yield; but, as we re-embarked,
Leaving, in quest of other scenes, the shore
