The River Wainsbeck

WHILE slowly wanders thy sequestered stream,

Wainsbeck! the mossy-scattered rocks among,

In fancy’s ear still making plaintive song

To the dark woods above, that waving seem

To bend o’er some enchanted spot; removed

From life’s vain coil, I listen to the wind,

And think I hear meek Sorrow’s plaint, reclined

O’er the forsaken tomb of one she loved!—

Fair scenes! ye lend a pleasure, long unknown,

To him who passes weary on his way—

The farewell tear, which now he turns to pay,

Shall thank you;—and whene’er of pleasures flown

His heart some long-lost image would renew,

Delightful haunts! he will remember you.