Epitaph
Happily through my years this small stream ran;It charmed the boy, and purified the manIts hollowed banks were my romantic caves,Its winter tumults made my ocean waves.I had no gold, nor silver overmuch,But what its sunny falls disclosed as such,And wished no gem, when eyes could here be brightWith the kingfisher's sapphire beam of flight,Or the pearl shield that tilting fish belowThrough arras of blue water-mosses show.What need for templed lotus, when our streamEnthroned the yellow lily? there the dreamOf placid Buddha might be as secure;Visitant wings there were that loved the lure.
With all my years this pretty stream sang on.I brought one here to praise it; who is gone,Yet in that crystal soul her mirrored faceWith foxgloves looking in still finds a place.Even the Muse's "melody unheard"For me is woven with this water's word,Since here I sat to read immortal song;The ripple played to that, nor answered wrong.All that deep-sighing elegy might mourn,Glad lyric hail, and sonnet-thought adorn,The changeful rivulet from stone to Stone
59
