Classic Poem

Whither ! tell me, Stream!
Roll these idle rills,
Down the rocks where Echo lies,
From the bleeding hills:
Kissing ev'ry heedless flow'r
As it droops thy waters o'er,
With a liquid lip of foam?

" From the mountain urn
O'er the heath I go,
Where the wild linnet sings,
To the woods below.
O'er the meadow's golden dress,
Rover of the wilderness!
And the sleeping vales, I roam. "

Wild and silly Stream!
Ere the wish be vain,
Turn to thy grassy spring,
Murmurer! again.
Tears, tears of sorrow deep
Rovers o'er their follies weep,
For a dear and distant home.