See how the tributary Cole, that flows
The summer through, mid narrow, flowery banks,
To whose impulsive stream the mill-wheel clanks,
Shaded and sweetened by the clustering rose,
Now swollen with December rains and snows,
Marshalling in bold array his watery ranks,
Swills through the willows, playing merry pranks
See how the silver-crested torrent goes!
So that where late we stood below the hatch,
Plucking the crimson berries from the tree,
Where ripening grasses waved above the knee,
With reed, and drifting bow, and floating thatch,
The river shows in many a shining patch,
And after, widens like an inland sea.