Now we glide along the shore, Chucking lilies as we go, While the yellow-sanded floor Doggedly resists the oar, Like some turtle dull and slow. Now we stem the middle tide, Plowing through the deepest soil; Ridges pile on either side, While we through the furrow glide, Reaping bubbles for our toil. Dew before and drought behind, Onward all doth seem to fly; Naught contents the eager mind, Only rapids now are kind, Forward are the earth and sky. Sudden music strikes the ear, Leaking out from yonder bank, Fit such voyagers to cheer. Sure there must be Naiads here, Who have kindly played this prank. There I know the cunning pack Where yon self-sufficient rill All its telltale hath kept back, Through the meadows held its clack, And now bubbleth its fill. Silent flows the parent stream, And if rocks do lie below Smothers with her waves the din, As it were a youthful sin, Just as still and just as slow. But this gleeful little rill, Purling round its storied pebble, Tinkles to the selfsame tune From December until June, Nor doth any drought enfeeble. See the sun behind the willows, Rising through the golden haze, How he gleams along the billows, Their white crests the easy pillows Of his dew-besprinkled rays. Forward press we to the dawning, For Aurora leads the way, Sultry noon and twilight scorning; In each dewdrop of the morning Lies the promise of a day. Rivers from the sun do flow, Springing with the dewy morn; Voyageurs 'gainst time do row, Idle noon nor sunset know, Ever even with the dawn.[58] Since that first "Away! away!" Many a lengthy league we've rowed, Still the sparrow on the spray Hastes to usher in the day With her simple stanza'd ode.[59] THE BREEZE'S INVITATION _July 20._ Come let's roam the breezy pastures, Where the freest zephyrs blow, Batten on the oak tree's rustle, And the pleasant insect bustle, Dripping with the streamlet's flow. What if I no wings do wear, Thro' this solid-seeming air I can skim like any swallow; Whoso dareth let her follow, And we'll be a jovial pair. Like two careless swifts let's sail, Zephyrus shall think for me; Over hill and over dale, Riding on the easy gale, We will scan the earth and sea. Yonder see that willow tree Winnowing the buxom air; You a gnat and I a bee, With our merry minstrelsy We will make a concert there. One green leaf shall be our screen, Till the sun doth go to bed, I the king and you the queen Of that peaceful little green, Without any subject's aid.