Still glides the stream, slow drops the boat Under the rustling poplars' shade; Silent the swans beside us float None speaks, none heeds ah, turn thy head.
And they shook their sweetness out in their sleep, On the brink of that beautiful stream, But it wandered along with a wearisome song Like a lover that walks in a dream: So the roses blew...
Cherwell! how pleased along thy willowed edge Erewhile I strayed, or when the morn began To tinge the distant turret's golden fan, Or evening glimmered o'er the sighing sedge!...
People with money but no fortune or stomach for the life of an albatross, watch him soar on self-made wings, fetch the dingy redness of morning's first catch with a long necked bottle...
Not envying Latian shades, if yet they throw A grateful coolness round that crystal Spring, Blandusia, prattling as when long ago The Sabine Bard was moved her praise to sing;...
Child of the clouds! remote from every taint Of sordid industry thy lot is cast; Thine are the honours of the lofty waste Not seldom, when with heat the valleys faint,...
How shall I paint thee? Be this naked stone My seat, while I give way to such intent; Pleased could my verse, a speaking monument, Make to the eyes of men thy features known....
Take, cradled Nursling of the mountain, take This parting glance, no negligent adieu! A Protean change seems wrought while I pursue The curves, a loosely-scattered chain doth make;...
The Minstrels played their Christmas tune To-night beneath my cottage-eaves; While, smitten by a lofty moon, The encircling laurels, thick with leaves, Gave back a rich and dazzling sheen,...
Ere yet our course was graced with social trees It lacked not old remains of hawthorn bowers, Where small birds warbled to their paramours; And, earlier still, was heard the hum of bees;...
"Change me, some God, into that breathing rose!" The love-sick Stripling fancifully sighs, The envied flower beholding, as it lies On Laura's breast, in exquisite repose;...
What aspect bore the Man who roved or fled, First of his tribe, to this dark dell who first In this pellucid Current slaked his thirst? What hopes came with him? what designs were spread...
Sole listener, Duddon! to the breeze that played With thy clear voice, I caught the fitful sound Wafted o'er sullen moss and craggy mound, Unfruitful solitudes, that seemed to upbraid...
On, loitering Muse, the swift Stream chides us on! Albeit his deep-worn channel doth immure Objects immense portrayed in miniature, Wild shapes for many a strange comparison!...
Hail to the fields, with Dwellings sprinkled o'er, And one small hamlet, under a green hill Clustering, with barn and byre, and spouting mill! A glance suffices, should we wish for more,...
No fiction was it of the antique age: A sky-blue stone, within this sunless cleft, Is of the very footmarks unbereft Which tiny Elves impressed; on that smooth stage Dancing with all their brilliant equipage...
O Mountain Stream! the Shepherd and his Cot Are privileged Inmates of deep solitude; Nor would the nicest Anchorite exclude A field or two of brighter green, or plot...
The struggling Rill insensibly is grown Into a Brook of loud and stately march, Crossed ever and anon by plank or arch; And, for like use, lo! what might seem a zone...
My frame hath often trembled with delight When hope presented some far-distant good, That seemed from heaven descending, like the flood Of yon pure waters, from their aery height...