Sweet Stream! twelve lingering moons have waned
Since last thy lovely shores I gained;
And now once more I hear thee sound
Thy summons to the hills around;
And see thee rushing proudly by
In all thy mountain majesty;
And scent those gales which o'er thee play
A life of fragrancy away;
And mark the rack by zephyr driven,
And listen to the voice of Heaven.
Hail thy green pastures, queen of floods,
Thy rocky steeps, thy waving woods!
The mountain-ash in glittering ranks
With autumn berries decks thy banks;
There the aspiring fir distils
His balmy sweetness o'er the hills;
There weeps the lovely birch, and keeps
The eye delighted as she weeps;
While by thy mirror, bright and fair,
The willow trims her tangled hair.

Nature and art combine to grace
Thy green and gorgeous dwelling-place.
Yon rich-clad hills, Earth's fairest birth,
Yet seem to scorn their mother Earth,
And search the breast of Heaven to woo
Its brightness down to grace thee too;
And ivied fane and shattered pile
Even in their ruin o'er thee smile,
While with the spoils of time they dress
Thy own immortal loveliness.

How softly yon frail vessel glides
Between thy rich and fertile sides!
Earth's fairest scenes are round her spread,
Heaven's brightest glories o'er her shed;
While glows in the transparent Wye
Another earth, another sky,
And turrets frown, and villas gleam,
Making that lovely vessel seem
Some fairy isthmus, placed to join
Two worlds of splendour so divine.

While Morning from her tresses grey
Still shakes their dewy drops away,
Or Noon's or Evening's steps I see,
Sweet Wye! I'll still remember thee:
Nor less when Night her empire boasts.
And glories in those glittering hosts,
Not gems as mortals idly deem,
Which on her sable mantle gleam,
But portals bright, thro' which is given
A glimpse of the full blaze of heaven.