To a Brook Near the Village of Corston
As thus I bend me o'er thy babbling stream
And watch thy current, Memory's hand portrays
The faint-formed scenes of the departed days,
Like the far forest by the moon's pale beam
Dimly descried, yet lovely. I have worn
Upon thy banks the live-long hour away
When sportive childhood wantoned through the day,
Joyed at the opening splendour of the morn,
Or, as the twilight darkened, heaved the sigh
Thinking of distant home, as down my cheek
(At the fond thought slow stealing on) would speak
The silent eloquence of the full eye.
Dim are the long-past days, yet still they please
As thy soft sounds, half-heard, borne on the inconstant breeze.
And watch thy current, Memory's hand portrays
The faint-formed scenes of the departed days,
Like the far forest by the moon's pale beam
Dimly descried, yet lovely. I have worn
Upon thy banks the live-long hour away
When sportive childhood wantoned through the day,
Joyed at the opening splendour of the morn,
Or, as the twilight darkened, heaved the sigh
Thinking of distant home, as down my cheek
(At the fond thought slow stealing on) would speak
The silent eloquence of the full eye.
Dim are the long-past days, yet still they please
As thy soft sounds, half-heard, borne on the inconstant breeze.
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