poems.
105
"THE BROOK AND RIVER."
A child, with softly folded hands,
Gazed on a brook, whose silver sands
Danced over meadows green and gray,
Chasing sunbeams in happy play.
The child, a fair and gentle girl,
With eyes of brown, and glossy curl,
Stood gazing on the brook so clear,
Ne'er dreaming of a shade of care.
'Twas a picture for an artist's eye:
The waving trees and clear blue sky,
The water rippling on so still,
The sparkling water of the rill.
The child moved on with careless feet,
To where the brook and river" meet,
Where fragrant lilies, tall and rank,
And violets blue fringed o'er its bank.
The brook and river hurried on,
Reflecting rays of the gladsome sun,
While the child drew near, with trembling feet,
To where the brook and river meet.
Gazed on a brook, whose silver sands
Danced over meadows green and gray,
Chasing sunbeams in happy play.
The child, a fair and gentle girl,
With eyes of brown, and glossy curl,
Stood gazing on the brook so clear,
Ne'er dreaming of a shade of care.
'Twas a picture for an artist's eye:
The waving trees and clear blue sky,
The water rippling on so still,
The sparkling water of the rill.
The child moved on with careless feet,
To where the brook and river" meet,
Where fragrant lilies, tall and rank,
And violets blue fringed o'er its bank.
The brook and river hurried on,
Reflecting rays of the gladsome sun,
While the child drew near, with trembling feet,
To where the brook and river meet.
