As the tir'd savage, who his drowsy frame

Had bask'd beneath the sun's unclouded flame, Awakes amid the troubles of the air, The skiey deluge and white lightning's glare, Aghast he scours before the tempest's sweep, And sad recalls the sunny hour of sleep! So tost by storms along life's wild'ring way Mine eye reverted views that cloudless day, When by my native brook I wont to rove, While HOPE with kisses nurs'd the infant LOVE!

Dear native brook! like peace so placidly Smoothing thro' fertile fields thy current meek-- Dear native brook! where first young POESY Star'd wildly eager in her noon-tide dream; Where blameless Pleasures dimpled Quiet's cheek, As water-lilies ripple thy slow stream! How many various-fated years have past, What blissful and what anguish'd hours, since last I skimm'd the smooth thin stone along thy breast Numb'ring its light leaps! Yet so deep imprest Sink the sweet scenes of childhood, that mine eyes I never shut amid the sunny blaze, But strait, with all their tints, thy waters rise, The crossing plank, and margin's willowy maze, And bedded sand, that, vein'd with various dyes, Gleam'd thro' thy bright transparence to the gaze-- Ah! fair tho' faint those forms of memory seem Like Heaven's bright bow on thy smooth evening stream.