  I wander far by bank and stream, Then paddle back thro’ wave and foam, Cross pebble stones, where waters leap; A froth-clad doorway hides my home. ’Neath fern leaves’ shade I gently dream, While circling weeds around me throng; The restless waters softly flow, Their babbling sounds like some sweet song. When stronger grows the northern breeze, The driven stream with noisy roar, Blown foremost by the boisterous wind, Bursts headlong thro’ my shivered door. A twisted twig I hop or climb, ’Tis maddening pace at times we ride; First, twirling gaily round in air, Then smoothly on the waters glide. Great frowning rocks above look down: With scornful glance they watch my glee, Aloud I croak, and broadly smile. What matter if they angry be? Our fleeting life is far too short, Tho’ merry as it well can be; The good, together with the bad, Can sweeten still this world for me. And when I reach my cosy home, The bubbling waters shout “Hurrah,” And hurrying onward, tell the tale To other streams both near and far; How I have braved the tempest’s din. And now beneath the lofty pine, While angry thunders make reply, In sweet contentment I recline. |
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