the brook, cleeve hill, gloucestershire.
111
Nature's hand hath placed thee here,
T'outvie the throstle's voice so clear,
Thy rippling music so lovingly heard,
As the true rival of the forest bird;
In the young poet's vision so free,
There's not a charm to equal thee!
T'outvie the throstle's voice so clear,
Thy rippling music so lovingly heard,
As the true rival of the forest bird;
In the young poet's vision so free,
There's not a charm to equal thee!
The tears of heaven gave thee birth
To gladden the parched and weary earth;
Nature smiles on thee, my brook,
Rains blessings on the quiet nook,
Love thy broken hilarious lay,
Where I wander here to day!
To gladden the parched and weary earth;
Nature smiles on thee, my brook,
Rains blessings on the quiet nook,
Love thy broken hilarious lay,
Where I wander here to day!
Dancing down by the woodland hoar,
Bearing their fallen leaves before,
Of the frail trembling aspen pale,
Ere barren to the wintry gale,
Her naked arms, alas! she throws,
Casting their one quivering burden low!
Bearing their fallen leaves before,
Of the frail trembling aspen pale,
Ere barren to the wintry gale,
Her naked arms, alas! she throws,
Casting their one quivering burden low!
Singing, bounding o'er pebbles and stones,
Laughing, ye leave thy tree cover'd home;
Though ye quit the woods awhile!
The children love the streamlet's smile
When wandering thro the sunny leas
Better than 'midst the hoary trees.
Laughing, ye leave thy tree cover'd home;
Though ye quit the woods awhile!
The children love the streamlet's smile
When wandering thro the sunny leas
Better than 'midst the hoary trees.
