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74
STREAMS.
I
Streams! ye have ever been the friends of men—From tiny brook, the playmate of the child,
Or torrent, dashing down the rocky glen,
That fills the soul of youth with rapture wild,
To Rhine or Seine, a nation's pride, that wends
Through peopled plains, by cities great and free,
As with full sweep majestic it descends,
Bearing its tribute to the mighty sea.
Most to the sacred poets streams are dear:
Not seldom, as the singers in old time
Drew inspiration from Castalian dews,
They still by fount or river find the Muse;
And, mingled with their songs, we seem to hear
The voice of waters, soothing or sublime.
75
II
Yes! all the noblest of the tuneful trainLov'd running waters and have sung their praise.
Xanthus and Simois in old Homer's lays
Still rush in whirling eddies to the main;
We catch at times through Milton's lofty strain
Warblings of Siloa and her sister fount
That bathe the feet of Sion's holy mount;
Dante remembers among souls in pain
The rills that speed down slopes of bright-green sward
To join his Arno; in Petrarca's song
Seems Sorga to console his amorous woe
With soft response; and Spenser, laureate bard
Of British rivers, marshals all their throng
To pass before us in triumphal show.
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