Poems (Campbell)/The Rural Walk
THE RURAL WALK.
"Come, Sarah, let us range the grove, And taste the sweets that nature yields;Admire her charms where'er we rove— O'er mountain top, or verdant fields.
Behold yon cliffs where groves of pine Scarce wave their dark-green drooping heads;Behold yon blooming fertile meads Where straggling wild flow'rs make their beds;
And see, my Sarah, yonder rose Protected by its native thorns—Sweet emblem of the lovely maid Whom virtue guards, and truth adorns."
"And see yon stream so bright and smooth, Where oft, as carelessly we rove,You've vow'd in Sarah's list'ning ear Eternal constancy and love."
Her hand the swain enraptur'd caught;— "Dear maid, that stream shall cease to flowEre Richard can forget those vows, Or Sarah's matchless charms forego!"
The maiden smil'd, and from her breast A little blooming nosegay drew—"These flow'rs may wither, droop, and fade, But ne'er this heart shall prove untrue."