Song (The winds as at their hour of birth)

The winds, as at their hour of birth,
Leaning upon the ridgèd sea,
Breathed low around the rolling earth
With mellow preludes, 'We are free.'

The streams through many a lilied row
Down-carolling to the crisped sea,
Low-tinkled with a bell-like flow
Atween the blossoms, 'We are free.'