Page:Keepsake 1829.pdf/4

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lovely river, thou art now As fair as fair can be, Pale flowers wreathe upon thy brow, The rose bends over thee. Only the morning sun hath leave To turn thy waves to light, Cool shade the willow branches weave When noon becomes too bright. The lilies are the only boats Upon thy diamond plain, The swan alone in silence floats Around thy charm'd domain. The moss bank's fresh embroiderie, With fairy favours starr'd, Seems made the summer haunt to be    Of melancholy bard. Fair as thou art, thou wilt be food For many a thought of pain; For who can gaze upon thy flood, Nor wish it to remain The same pure and unsullied thing Where heaven's face is as clear Mirror'd in thy blue wandering As heaven's face can be here. Flowers fling their sweet bonds on thy breast, The willows woo thy stay, In vain,—thy waters may not rest, Their course must be away. In yon wide world, what wilt thou find? What all find—toil and care: