| |
| FROM the river’s plashy bank, | |
| Where the sedge grows green and rank, | |
| And the twisted woodbine springs, | |
| Upward speeds the morning lark | |
| To its silver cloud-and hark! | 5 |
| On his way the woodman sings. | |
| |
| On the dim and misty lakes | |
| Gloriously the morning breaks, | |
| And the eagle’s on his cloud:— | |
| Whilst the wind, with sighing, wooes | 10 |
| To its arms the chaste cold ooze, | |
| And the rustling reeds pipe loud. | |
| |
| Where the embracing ivy holds | |
| Close the hoar elm in its folds, | |
| In the meadow’s fenny land, | 15 |
| And the winding river sweeps | |
| Through its shallows and still deeps,— | |
| Silent with my rod I stand. | |
| |
| But when sultry suns are high | |
| Underneath the oak I lie | 20 |
| As it shades the water’s edge, | |
| And I mark my line, away | |
| In the wheeling eddy, play, | |
| Tangling with the river sedge. | |
| |
| When the eye of evening looks | 25 |
| On green woods and winding brooks, | |
| And the wind sighs o’er the lea,— | |
| Woods and streams,—I leave you then, | |
| While the shadow in the glen | |
| Lengthens by the greenwood tree. | 30 |
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