MARGARET.
Hills that roll back to mountains, close
The holy Tale that shrines St. Rose:
The mountain tops let down their shows
Into a river that southward flows.
The hills that crowd to the water's edge,
Sink into the wave through the slimy sedge.
When the chapel bell aloft is swinging
Ten thousand airy peals keep ringing;
Echoes from forest and bluff and dell,
Follow the lead of the chapel bell,
Along the lonely river sighing,
The holy Tale that shrines St. Rose:
The mountain tops let down their shows
Into a river that southward flows.
The hills that crowd to the water's edge,
Sink into the wave through the slimy sedge.
When the chapel bell aloft is swinging
Ten thousand airy peals keep ringing;
Echoes from forest and bluff and dell,
Follow the lead of the chapel bell,
Along the lonely river sighing,
