From mist a woof of rain is made,
Dew from the clouds unbound,
And streams their dripping jaws have laid
Upon the crags around,
Where mountains loom, 'mid forest-gloom,
In bluish veils 'tis swathed.
In tears of rain amid the plain
The granite piles are bathed.
And naught is seen, the azure's bed,
And all the firmament,
In shadow sleep, with mist o'erspread,
With sheets of rain-storm rent.
And day and night and dawn once more
Unchanging will draw nigh,
To swelling waters as they roar,
To leaden streaks of sky.
The rain-storms lash, the tempest shrieks,
The flood in wrath rings clearer.
On Tatra's peaks, on Tatra's peaks
The torrent thunders nearer.
The wind whips the orphaned pines
And rain at my window beats;
In peaceful mood my soul
To misty pathways fleets.
