Classic Poem

DOWN the hillside tripping brightly,
O'er the pebbles tinkling lightly,
'Mid the meadows rippling merrily, the mountain-current goes;
By the broken rocks careering,
Thro' the desert persevering,
Flowing onward ever, ever singing as it flows.

But oh! the darksome caves
That swallow up the waves!
Oh! the shadow-haunted forest and the sandy shallows wide!
Oh! the hollow-reeded fen,
Like the stagnant minds of men,
A desert for the silver foot of mountain-cradled tide!

And oh! the withered leaves
From the fading forest-eaves,
Pressing on its forehead like the signet of decay;
And the cold cloud's troubling tear
On its crystal waters clear,
Like a haunting sorrow gliding down the future of its way.

Oh! the quick, precipitous riot
That breaks upon its quiet,
When lingering by some shady bank in dream-engendering rest!
Oh! the stormy wind that mars
The image of the stars,
When they nestle, heavenly lovers! on their earthly wooer's breast!

But the wild flowers love thy side;
And the birds sing o'er thy tide;
And the shy deer from the highlands confidingly descends;
And to thee, the son of care,
With a blessing and a prayer,
From life's great wildernesses in a thirsting spirit wends.

And the fairies never seen,
Come tripping o'er the green,
To gaze into thy mirror the live-long summer night;
And the glory of the skies
That the blind earth idly eyes,
Fills the pulses of thy being with the fulness of its light.