Where thy swift trout leap, and thy swallows dip, 'Neath a gray tor's shadow 'twas mine to know The pure first touch of a virgin lip, And the virgin pant of a breast of snow. River of Dart! O river of Dart! By thy waters wild I have found a heart. MORTIMER COLLINS. [From The Two Streams.] HERE have been brotherhoods in song, THE And human friendships true; There have been lovers unto death, Yes, and right many too. But never in the march of time, And ne'er in mortal knowing, From history or nobler rhyme Hath there been such constant flowing: One from mountains far away, One from glades of emerald shining, Flowing, flowing evermore For a delicate combining. If upon a summer's day, When the air is blue and bracing, Ripe for fame, which is but love- Never met in classic story. DAVID GRAY. The Brooklet. DEEP unlovely brooklet, moaning slow Of moss-chat that among the purplish bells D. GRAY. [From The Luggie.] BETWEEN its spotless-clothed banks, in clear Pellucid luculence, the Luggie seems Charmed in its course, and with deceptive calm Flows mazily in unapparent lapse, A liquid silence. D. GRAY. [From The Luggie.] OVER the mill dam Sounding, a cataract in miniature, White-robed it dashes thro' unceasing mist. D. GRAY. A [From Colibri, Canto iii.] ND now the waters dream And darken in the shadows where they keep Rich stains of leaf and flower buried deep, In pastures where the feeding fishes gleam, Spangled with sun and stars; and now the stream, ARTHUR O'SHAUGHNESSY. [From At Stratford-upon-Avon.] AND, touched with the sweet glamour of the year, The winding Avon murmured in its bed. THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH. The Valley Stream. STREAM flowing swiftly, what music is thine? The breezy rock-pass, and the storm-wooing pine, Their wild mountain murmurs ; Subdued in thy liquid response to a sound O Stream, flowing swiftly! Encircle our meadows with bounty and grace; To find the great waters, The great ocean-waters, Blue, wonderful, boundless to vision or thought ;Thence, thence, might thy musical tidings be brought ! One waft of the tones of the infinite sea! Our gain is but songs of the mountain from thee, O child of the mountain! O Stream of our Valley! |