Fair stream of the mountain, brightly flowing Between thy fresh margins, gay with flowers, Life's uncertain visions showing; Thus, like thy waters glide past the hours. Oft on thy sunny banks I lie And mark the waves that glitter by With fleeting joy and brightness glowing. Fair stream! when no more near thee reclining, I gaze and lament for moments gone— Cold and silent, past repining— Still thy clear way thou wilt murmur on: Still will thy roses bloom anew, Though I no more their beauty view, And yonder sun as bright be shining!