Hail sacred spring, whose fruitful stream Fattens the flocks, and cloaths the plain; The melancholy poets theme, And solace of the thirsty swain. Thou fly'st, like time, with eager haste; Behind thy self thou still dost stay; Thy stream, like his, is never past, And yet is ever on the way. While mankind boasts superior sight, With eyes erect the heav'ns to see; The starry eyes of heav'n delight To gaze upon themselves in thee. A second sun thou dost present, And bring new heav'ns before our eyes; We view a milder firmament, And pleas'd, look downward to the skies. Thy streams were once th' impartial test Of untaught nature's humble pride, When by thy glass the nymphs were drest, In flow'rs, the honours of thy side. Of thee they drank, till blushing fruit Was ravisht from the tender vine; And man, like thee, was impollute, Till mischief learn'd to mix with wine. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE OLD SEXTON by PARK BENJAMIN A HYMN FOR CHRISTMAS DAY (2) by JOHN BYROM TO THE NIGHTINGALE by ANNE FINCH THE LION'S RIDE by FERDINAND FREILIGRATH VASHTI by FRANCES ELLEN WATKINS HARPER THE FINDING OF THE LYRE by JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL |