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!