Page:Literary Souvenir 1827.pdf/7



I. and dark as the source of yon river, Whose birth-place we know not, and seek not to know, Though wild as the flight of the shaft from yon quiver, Is the course of its waves as in music they flow.

II. The lily flings o'er it its silver white blossom, Like ivory barks which a fairy hath made; The rose o'er it bends with its beautiful bosom, As though ’t were enamoured itself of its shade. III. The sunshine, like Hope, in its noontide hour slumbers On the stream as it loved the bright place of its rest, And its waves pass in song, as the sea shells' soft numbers Had giv'n to those waters their sweetest and best.

IV. The banks that surround it are flower-dropt and sunny; There the first birth of violets' odour-showers weep—