Freshly, gaily, the rivulet flows Beside its emerald bank Each silver bubble in beauty goes Adown the stream & briefly glows Till it reach the broad flags & the alders dank. Shepherds, who love the lay Of untaught bards in oaken shades Brighteyed Apollos of the forest glades Hither, hither, turn your way. Come to the grassy border of the brook Here where the ragged hawthorn dips His prickly buds of perfume in the wave And thence again a costly fragrance sips Drinking with each balmy floweret's lips Pure from the Naiad's welling urn While overhead the embowering elms Bow their broad branches & keep out the day. Hither, hither, turn your way. Good bye. |