“Once, I remember, in the summer’s heat, Tired with the chase, I sought a cool retreat, And walking on, a silent current found, Which gently glided o’er the gravelly ground; The crystal water was so smooth, so clear, My eye distinguish’d every pebble there; So soft its motion, that I scarce perceived The running stream, or what I saw believed: The hoary willow and the poplar made, Along the shelving bank, a grateful shade. In the cool rivulet my feet I dipp’d, Then waded to the knee, and then I stripp’d: My robe I careless on an osier threw, That near the place commodiously grew; Nor long upon the border naked stood, But plunged with speed into the silver flood: My arms a thousand ways I moved, and tried To quicken, if I could, the lazy tide, Where, while I play’d my swimming gambols o’er, I heard a murm’ring voice, and frighted sprung to shore. ‘Oh! whither, Arethusa, dost thou fly?’ From the brook’s bottom did Alpheus cry. Again I heard him, in a hollow tone: