On a Scene in the Dargle

Twas a bright moment of my life when first, O thou pure stream through rocky portals flowing! That temple-chamber of thy glory burst On my glad sight!—thy pebbly couch lay glowing With deep mosaic hues; and, richly throwing O'er thy cliff-walls a tinge of autumn's vest, High bloom'd the heath-flowers, and the wild wood's crest Was touched with gold.—Flow ever thus, bestowing Gifts of delight, sweet stream! on all who move Gently along thy shores; and oh! if love, —True love, in secret nurs'd, with sorrow fraught— Should sometimes bear his treasured griefs to Thee, Then full of kindness let thy music be, Singing repose to every troubled thought!