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Like poet's dream,
The glorious scene Was mirrored on my soul.
The Heavens were as a tinted lawn
Of blossoms, rich and gay;
So fair amid the blue !
hue ! It thrilled me through with rapture.
The little Village nestling mid the trees
Did ever and anon
Or urchins shout
As in and out
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,
And at my feet
In echoes sweet
Singing, like the Waves upon the Shore
When peaceful is the Night;
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,
Like virgin's tear,
So cool and clear,
Of willows casting flickering shades
Upon the flowing tide;
Where grayling love to hide,
And here await
The tiny bait
Of silent, shadowy bends, o'er-arched
By avenues of trees ;
His colours bright,
A pretty sight,
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
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
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 ;
While on the tide
Bright bubbles glide
Of sandy ledges where the minnows crowd,
And water-wagtails play ;
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,
With many a sportive prank;
On lightsome wing
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 ;
Whilst round about
The lusty trout
Thus onward moves the Sparkling Brook
With waters all alive;
Cresses green, and weeds,
Flowers, buds, and reeds, The fringes of its borders.