Page:Poems Cook.djvu/182

Did a forcible argument sometimes prevail,
What a woful expression was seen in his tail;
And, though bitterly vex'd, I was made to agree,
That Dido, the spaniel, swam better than he.

What pleasure it was to spring forth in the sun,
When the school-door was oped, and our lessons were done;
When "Where shall we play!" was the doubt and the call,
And "Down by the mill-stream" was echo'd by all.

When tired of childhood's rude, boisterous pranks,
We pull'd the tall rushes that grew on its banks;
And, busily quiet, we sat ourselves down
To weave the rough basket, or plait the light crown.

I remember the launch of our fairy-built ship,
How we set her white sails, pull'd her anchor atrip;
Till mischievous hands, working hard at the craft,
Turn'd the ship to a boat, and the boat to a raft.

The first of my doggerel breathings was there,—
'Twas the hope of a poet, "An Ode to Despair;"
I won't vouch for its metre, its sense, or its rhyme,
But I know that I then thought it truly sublime.

Beautiful streamlet! I dream of thee still,
Of thy pouring cascade, and the tic-tac-ing mill;
Thou livest in memory, and will not depart,
For thy waters seem blent with the streams of my heart.

Home of my youth! if I go to thee now,
None can remember my voice or my brow;
None can remember the sunny-faced child,
That play'd by the water-mill, joyous and wild.

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