How does the water Come down at Lodore?

Thou hast been called, O sleep! the friend of woe; But 'tis the happy that have called thee so.

So I told them in rhyme, For of rhymes I had store.

Oh, when a mother meets on high The babe she lost in infancy, Hath she not then for pains and fears, The day of woe, the watchful night, For all her sorrow, al…

Winds and waters keep A hush more dead than any sleep.

Quis color ille vadis, seras cum propulit umbras Hesperus et viridi perfudit monte Mosellam! tota natant crispis iuga motibus et tremit absens pampinus et vitr…

On thy fair bosom, silver lake, The wild swan spreads his snowy sail, And round his breast the ripples break As down he bears before the gale.