DERWENTWATER.
I
Sweet lake of the mountains! how happy was I
When life's sunny morn had no cloud on its sky,
And I roam'd with my love on thy beautiful shore,
To hear the deep music that gush'd from Lodore!
II
We sail'd on thy waters, rejoicing alone,
Or trod thy green islands, and call'd them our own,
And built, 'mid the hills that encircle thy breast,
A bower and a home in the wilds of the West.
III
But sorrow has darken'd the noon of our day,
And peril and doubt have encompass'd our way;
My heart's only love in captivity lies,
And thy glory, O Derwent! is dimm'd in mine eyes.
IV
Sad lake of the mountains, through dangers I roam,
With a pang in my heart and a blight on my home,
To dream of the joys that shall bless me no more,
And mingle my sighs with the moan of Lodore.
