Like poet's dream,

The glorious scene

Was mirrored on my soul.

The Heavens were as a tinted lawn
Of blossoms, rich and gay;

Reflected from that border land

Beyond the Gates of Day.

So fair amid the blue!

So fresh of every hue!

It thrilled me through with rapture.

The little Village nestling mid the trees

Did ever and anon

Send forth, resounding to the breeze,
The fragments of a song ;

Or urchins shout

As in and out

They frolicked on the Green.

And in the Meadows fed the kine,
Or stood in thoughtful mood,
Upon the banks in placid line,
Of tranquil quietude;

A lesson to

The babbling crew

Of discontented men.

The screaming peewit wheeled o'erhead

In well-assumed alarm,

As zealously it strove to guard
Its speckled eggs from harm:
And at my feet

In echoes sweet

Rolled on the Murmuring Brook,

Singing, like the Waves upon the Shore
When peaceful is the Night;
And on the waters shines the Moon

With mystic, silv'ry light;

Whilst up the Sands

In joyous bands

The shadowy breakers roll.

Telling of the Meadows and the dark blue Hills

In lonely beauty far away,
Where from a mossy, rock-hid spring,

Throughout the live-long day,

Like virgin's tear,

So cool and clear,

Its waters drop in crystal spray.

Of willows casting flickering shades

Upon the flowing tide;

Concealing deep, dark, curious pools,

Where grayling love to hide,

And here await

The tiny bait

The current brings to them.

Of silent, shadowy bends, o'er-arched By avenues of trees;

Where oft the kingfisher doth flit

His finny prey to seize,

His colours bright,

A pretty sight,

To charm the eye and please.

Of steep, o'er-hanging, lofty bluffs
Well pierced with many holes ;
Where colonies of martins dwell,
And troops of water-voles.

Where wild bees hive,

And otters dive

Or swim among the shoals

Of pebbly flats in channels wide,
With coves and sandy reaches,
Where oft the lonely heron hies
To wade along the beaches.
Where like a flash

His beak doth dash

On minnows, snails, and leeches.

Of grassy banks all daisy pied,

Or thick with weeds o'er-grown, Where frequently with skilful cast The angler's fly is thrown

To fish which rise

To take the prize

But gain the hook alone.

Of shelving places, where the meadows slope

Away toward the brink;

Where merry lambkins often play

And cattle love to drink;

While on the tide

Bright bubbles glide

Like fancies in the Lives of Men.

Of sandy ledges where the minnows crowd,

And water-wagtails play;

Of half submerged oaken stakes,

The haunts of pike by day;

A moss-grown pier,

Where year by year

The shepherd cleans his flock.

Of calm, clear pools, reflecting trees and sky,

Bridged over with a plank,

Where blue-backed swallows love to fly

With many a sportive prank;

On lightsome wing

Quick circling,

And keen, bright, wandering eye.

Of rapids, where the rushing waters whirl
In eddies round and round,

O'er shallow banks of rugged clay,

A bloodless battle ground!

Then clear as glass

They swiftly pass,

To gain the distant Sea.

All dashing, and flashing, the feathery spray, To crystals as pure as pearl ;

Then rippling on with a soothing song

And many a wavy curl;

Whilst round about

The lusty trout

Quick snatch the straggling fly.

Thus onward moves the Sparkling Brook

With waters all alive;

Its glassy, liquid flowing stream

Bears on its moving tide

Cresses green, and weeds,

Flowers, buds, and reeds,

The fringes of its borders.