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| DOWN by the river, on this rustic bridge, | |
| I love to while these sunny hours away. | |
| The low wind o’er the meadows breathes a song | |
| That lulls the ear and steals upon the soul | |
| Like voices of the past; the delicate blue | 5 |
| Of the horizon gleams with snowy clouds, | |
| So moveless in the distance that they seem | |
| The peaks of fairy-land, and, oceanwards, | |
| Beneath me, glides the river with a strain | |
| Of music as it laps the rough-hewn piers | 10 |
| Of the old bridge, and winds among the flats | |
| Now golden where the sun strikes through, and gilds | |
| The yellow sand below, or lucent green, | |
| Where verdure clothes the marge, or with the hue | |
| Of heaven on its bosom, till it hides | 15 |
| Among the hills, that spread their friendly arms | |
| To welcome it. Anon a rippling breeze | |
| Skims on the surface, and a deeper blue | |
| Enchants the eye. There leaps a perch, and leaves | |
| A silver circle curling to the shore; | 20 |
| And here the minnows gather, where the bridge | |
| Throws a brown shadow on the stream. A flock | |
| Of wild-fowl, bearing northward, sail o’erhead,— | |
| Specks on the azure. In the languid air, | |
| Before me darts the swallow, and I hear | 25 |
| The meadow-lark, the catbird, and the jay | |
| Afar and near. O songsters of the spring, | |
| Ye seem to bring us health and happiness | |
| Upon your wings, for your wild warbling fills | |
| The weary soul with unaccustomed joy, | 30 |
| With ecstasy that language cannot tell! * * * * * | |
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