Page:Literary Souvenir 1832.pdf/54



Streamlet!—hasting on
 * Through the wild untrodden wood,

Where a voice of mortal tone, Of thy path—thou lovely one,
 * Rarely breaks the solitude!

From the founts that gem the side Of the wild bird’s mountain home,— With thine unpolluted tide,
 * Wherefore dost thou roam?

Pure thou art, and free from stain— Ne’er to be so pure again!

Not from forth the sordid clay,
 * Grovelling mid the haunts of men,

Rose thy sparkling waves to-day; But where Heaven’s own breezes play, O’er the far-off, trackless glen.