THE BROOK; AN IDYL. 'HERE, by this brook, we parted; I to the East One whom the strong sons of the world despise ; For lucky rhymes to him were scrip and share, And mellow metres more than cent for cent; O had he lived! In our school-books we say, Of those that held their heads above the crowd, They flourish'd then or then; but life in him Could scarce be said to flourish, only touch'd Prattling the primrose fancies of the boy, To me that loved him; for "O brook," he says, "O babbling brook," says Edmund in his rhyme, "Whence come you?" and the brook, why not? replies. I come from haunts of coot and hern, I make a sudden sally And sparkle out among the fern, To bicker down a valley. By thirty hills I hurry down, Till last by Philip's farm I flow To join the brimming river, For men may come and men may go, 'Poor lad, he died at Florence, quite worn out, Travelling to Naples. There is Darnley bridge, I chatter over stony ways, In little sharps and trebles, With many a curve my banks I fret And many a fairy foreland set With willow-weed and mallow. I chatter, chatter, as I flow To join the brimming river, For men may come and men may go, But I go on for ever. 'But Philip chatter'd more than brook or bird; Old Philip; all about the fields you caught His weary daylong chirping, like the dry I wind about, and in and out, And here and there a foamy flake Upon me, as I travel, With many a silvery waterbreak Above the golden gravel, And draw them all along, and flow To join the brimming river, For men may come and men may go, 'O darling Katie Willows, his one child! A maiden of our century, yet most meek; A daughter of our meadows, yet not coarse; Straight, but as lissome as a hazel wand; In gloss and hue the chestnut, when the shell 'Sweet Katie, once I did her a good turn, Her and her far-off cousin and betrothed, James Willows, of one name and heart with her. For here I came, twenty years back- the week Before I parted with poor Edmund; crost Beyond it, where the waters marry — crost, And push'd at Philip's garden-gate. The gate, To Katie somewhere in the walks below, "Run, Katie!" Katie never ran: she moved To meet me, winding under woodbine bowers, |