I KNEW a stream,'twas yonder, where,
Now bleak and bare,
There was a covert once of such fair green
Upon its margin seen,
The wandering Nightingale was fond to come,
And summer birds would choose it for their home.
And then it was a wild and wayward stream;
The brightest beam
Of summer, when it played upon its cheek,
Painting its waters with a golden streak,
Did but betray
The hidden rocks that on its bosom lay:
And many a rugged mound, and many a steep,
And many a frowning chasm dark and deep,
Were on its path,and many a sigh,
As it pass'd them by,
I've heard those waters whisper,I have known
The sleepy midnight startled at the groan
With which they dashed upon the rustick bridge,
Or on the edge
Of some sharp precipice, or fallen tree
Bath'd in its foam and water'd with its spray.
But there came a night,'twas such a night
As starlets bright
Fear to look out upon; and the sick moon
If she appears, will hide herself anon,
As if she did not like that men should see
The dimness of her eye:
Small light was there except the lightning's flame,
Fresh from the hills the sweeping torrent came,
And nought could stay its course,
Or check the force
Of that tremendous flood, whose fearful sweep
Bore with it to the deep
Whatever could impede it by the way,
The rocky mound, the over-hanging tree,
The hidden stone that on its bosom lay,
All yielded, and all went with it. And now,
I'll show thee where those once wild waters flow,
Deep, silent, beautiful,the brightest ray
Of the mid summer's best and brightest day,
The morning's blush, the evening's golden streak,
Are brighter on its cheek
Than any where beside,upon its breast
The Nymphea goes to rest
And floats securely,not a ripple now
Furrows its silver brow,
And not a sound
From the broad waters wakes the echo round.
The winter snows return, the rains descend,
And earth and heaven in mingled fury blend,
It matters not,securely sped
Within their deepen'd bed,
Straight to the main the steady waters flow;
For nothing is there now
On which to break themselves,nor rise, nor fall,
Nor frowning chasm,the tempest swept them all.
My Sister, there are hearts on earth, I ween,
That erst have been
Less tranquil than they are,they once had joys,
And hopes, and expectations,gilded toys,
That they mistook for treasures:
They had pleasures,
And prospects and desires,Fortune then
Ne'er shot in vain
The random arrows of her reckless bow,
Barbed with woe,
Sure to hit somewhere: earth was peopled then
With things that could be loved and loved in vain,
Joys that depart, and pleasures that betray,
One sorrow came, and swept them all away:
And now there are none,
They yielded, they are gone.
And do you wonder now
To see upon that light and careless brow
The smiles of pleasure playing?
Gaily straying
From flower to flower, like the summer bee,
That fearlessly
Sips from their honied cups the sweets they bear,
And is content that they should perish there,
What should it want with them? Its stores are laid
Where flowers do not fade.
There was a struggle once,the rebel heart
Refused to part
With what it lov'd,the unsubmitted will
Opposing still
The stronger will of Heaven, met the tide,
And laid itself in ruins by its side.
Still sleeps the battle when the field is won.
The strife is done,
And Heaven is conqueror. Flow on, flow on,
Straight for eternity, thou welcome tide
Of never-resting Time! Let calmly glide
With even wave
Thy now untroubled waters,they shall lave
Bosoms that will not sigh beneath their weight nor mourn
Their going,nor bewail them gone.
If rainbow colours glitter on thy brow,
Or golden blossoms on thy margin grow,
The tranquil spirit shall reflect their hue,
As pure, as true,
As yonder waters to the bright blue skies:
And when the stormy vapours rise,
Dark but not troubled, clouded yet serene,
That spirit shall be seen,
Swiftly and lightly as they pass it o'er,
To burrow from them but a charm the more.
Nay, fill thy tide of sorrow to the full,
Throng the encompassed bosom with the swell;
O'erflow it, overwhelm it,tranquil still,
Still the enlarged heart shall give thee room,
There cannot come
So much of sorrow on thy brief, brief tide,
But it may glide
Peacefully over it, and buried lie
In yonder ocean of eternity.