Where the breezes murmured low,
And a merry, laughing brooklet
Wound its way to fields below;
Where the spray-drops, lightly dashing,
Danced and flirted in the air,
Stood a ledge of rock, o'erhanging,
Fair to view, a grotto there.
Underneath 't was clean and mossy,
Cool and shady all about,
While a little pool beside it
Sheltered many a speckled trout.
And it happened that a maiden,
Fair as maiden e'er could be,
Sat there idly in the sunset,
Deep in Hugo's "Ninety-Three."