Beneath the hills, the lake shows blue,
Further streaked with a patch of green,
And further still, more green between,
Until all blends into a green-blue hue.
The manors stretching in endless rings
Extend around each lake-side nook.
Within the lake. the birds' white flocks.
And fleeting boats where'er you look.
Until the lake and the hill-side rocks
On the far horizon slope to meet.
The snow-white manors and the sails,
The birds, the town, the towers steep,
The knoll, the mount where the mist prevails,
All these are plunged beneath the deep
Wherein their images repeat.
Where in the distance, a mountain bluff
Burdens the bank from high above,
There spreads an old tree, gnarled and rough,
An aged-oak—There never more
Will come that happy time of yore
When love's lure sang the turtle dove.
Nearby protrudes a grassy knoll,
Upon which stands a wheel and pole . . .
Along the mountain, drear and blue,
A pine grove hums its mournful woe . . .
The sunshine floods the dale with glow
And a morning May spreads sparkling dew.
All this the captive sees before his eyes,
All this he sees once more before he dies,
And a piercing sorrow overcomes his heart;
He deeply sighs—tear quickly follows tear,
38
