Ode VI. to a Rivulet

Child of the hill, whose lucid wave Ensues its solitary way Thro' sedge, thro' heath, by rocky cave, Along the meadows green array; Murmuring now the wild wood thro', Stayed with many a sloping bough, Oak or elm, that in the tide Refreshing oft their leafy pride Thy nursing tendance wooe.

There brown with shade, here bright with day, As in this valley's sheltered mound Unnumbered flowers of fairest ray Bend o'er thy mossy bound. Primrose pale, and violet blue, Slender pinks of snowy hue, And rosiers of richest steam, And hyacinths, in the watry gleam Their mingled radiance view.

While of these flowers a wreath I twine, To deck thy silver flight, attend: Attend, while down the stream divine Of music fancy's flowers I send. Grateful as I am to thee, Fair Fount, by whose windings free Oft I trod when Morn arose, And oft at dusky even-close, To meet dear Poesy.

The lordly Flood whose ample sway Guards empires, oft with angry sweep Rolls Plenty's liberal stores away To the remorseless deep. Other far thy gentle reign, That with verdure clothes the plain, Nourishes each drooping flower, And laves the herds at noontide hour, And feeds the golden grain.

Like thee, O may my day still flow Thro' Solitude's sequestred vale, Where Pleasure's secret flowrets blow Remote from Fortune's rude assail. Yonder towers the steep that crown Fear each storm's destroying frown, To the hidden hut beneath That rises o'er thy humble path Nor fear, nor storm is known.

Might the fond Muse recall the days When faith, and fancy were allied, Still should the yellow-skirted fays Sport on thy level side, When the moon admires her face Mid thy silver quivering glass: Never should thy bright career Or Summer's sultry beam severe Or Winter's rage deface.