Perchance the laden tree we shake.
May have a reptile at its root;
But shall we only see the snake,
And quite forget the grateful fruit?
May have a reptile at its root;
But shall we only see the snake,
And quite forget the grateful fruit?
Shall we forget each sunny morn,
And tell of one dire lightning-stroke?
Of all the suits that we have worn,
Shall we but keep the funeral cloak?
And tell of one dire lightning-stroke?
Of all the suits that we have worn,
Shall we but keep the funeral cloak?
Oh why should our own hands be twining
Dark chaplets from the cypress tree?
Why stand in gloomy spots, repining,
When further on sweet buds may be?
Dark chaplets from the cypress tree?
Why stand in gloomy spots, repining,
When further on sweet buds may be?
'Tis true that nightshade oft will bind us,
That eyes, the brightest, will be dim;
Old wrinkled Care too oft will find us,
But why should we go seeking him?
That eyes, the brightest, will be dim;
Old wrinkled Care too oft will find us,
But why should we go seeking him?
THE WATERS.
Waters, bright Waters, how sweetly ye glide
Where the tapering bulrush stands up in your tide:
Where the white lilies peep and the green cresses creep,
And your wimple just lulleth the minnow to sleep.
Now lurking in silence, all lonely you take
Your meandering course through the close-tangled brake;
Where the adder may wink as he basks on the brink,
And the fox-cub and timid fawn fearlessly drink.
'Mid valley and greenwood right onward ye ramble,
Through the maze of the rushes and trail of the bramble;
Where the hard with his note, and the child with his boat,
Where the tapering bulrush stands up in your tide:
Where the white lilies peep and the green cresses creep,
And your wimple just lulleth the minnow to sleep.
Now lurking in silence, all lonely you take
Your meandering course through the close-tangled brake;
Where the adder may wink as he basks on the brink,
And the fox-cub and timid fawn fearlessly drink.
'Mid valley and greenwood right onward ye ramble,
Through the maze of the rushes and trail of the bramble;
Where the hard with his note, and the child with his boat,
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