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And then the bagpipes he could blow;And thus from house to house would go,And all were pleas'd to hear and see;For none made sweeter melodyThan did the poor blind Boy.
Yet he had many a restless dream;Both when he heard the Eagles scream,And when he heard the torrents roar,And heard the water beat the shoreNear which their Cottage stood.
Beside a lake their Cottage stood,Not small like ours, a peaceful flood;But one of mighty size, and strange;That, rough or smooth, is full of change,And stirring in its bed.
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