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ON ANGLING. |
95 |
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TO THE STREAMLET.
Haste to the streamlet ! see, the sun Full half his morning course hath run ; The blackbird leaves the hawthorn hedge— The wild.duck seeks the sheltering sedge— The Shepherd, as he wends along The hill-side, trolls his matin song ; All nature smiles, serene and gay, Then to the streamlet haste a\ray !
What is the crowded city, rife
With all the ills of social life ?
What all its pomp, scarce seen ere past,
Like metor midnight's murky vest ?
Oh ! what are these, when the young eye
May gaze on heaven's unclouded sky?
What, but the baubles of a day ?
Then to the streamlet haste away !
Haste to the streamlet, see, the sun Full half his morning course hath run ; The sheep instinctive seek the glade^— The swine-herd courts the beechen shade— The flow'rets, in th'enamel'd mead, No longer dew-dropt, hang their head; Fatigued the school-boy rests from play— Then to the streamlet haste away! |
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