| |
| FRESH from the fountains of the wood | |
| A rivulet of the valley came, | |
| And glided on for many a rood, | |
| Flushed with the morning’s ruddy flame. | |
| |
| The air was fresh and soft and sweet; | 5 |
| The slopes in spring’s new verdure lay, | |
| And wet with dew-drops at my feet | |
| Bloomed the young violets of May. | |
| |
| No sound of busy life was heard | |
| Amid those pastures lone and still, | 10 |
| Save the faint chirp of early bird, | |
| Or bleat of flocks along the hill. | |
| |
| I traced that rivulet’s winding way; | |
| New scenes of beauty opened round, | |
| Where meads of brighter verdure lay, | 15 |
| And lovelier blossoms tinged the ground. | |
| |
| “Ah, happy valley stream!” I said, | |
| “Calm glides thy wave amid the flowers, | |
| Whose fragrance round thy path is shed | |
| Through all the joyous summer hours. | 20 |
| |
| “O, could my years, like thine, be passed | |
| In some remote and silent glen, | |
| Where I could dwell and sleep at last, | |
| Far from the bustling haunts of men!” | |
| |
| But what new echoes greet my ear? | 25 |
| The village school-boy’s merry call; | |
| And mid the village hum I hear | |
| The murmur of the waterfall. | |
| |
| I looked; the widening veil betrayed | |
| A pool that shone like burnished steel, | 30 |
| Where that bright valley stream was stayed | |
| To turn the miller’s ponderous wheel. | |
| |
| Ah! why should I, I thought with shame, | |
| Sigh for a life of solitude, | |
| When even this stream without a name | 35 |
| Is laboring for the common good. | |
| |
| No longer let me shun my part | |
| Amid the busy scenes of life, | |
| But with a warm and generous heart | |
| Press onward in the glorious strife. | 40 |
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