Classic Poem

Stranger , that with careless feet
Wanderest near this green retreat,
Where, thro' gently winding slopes,
Soft the distant prospect opes;

Where the fern in fringed pride
Decks the lonely valley's side;
Where the white-throat chirps her song,
Flitting as thou tread'st along:

Know, where now thy footsteps pass
O'er the bending tufts of grass,
Bright gleaming thro' the encircling wood,
Once a Naiad rolled her flood.

If her urn, unknown to fame,
Pour'd no far extended stream,
Yet along its glassy side
Clear and constant rolled the tide.

Grateful for the tribute paid,
Lordly Mersey loved the maid;
Yonder rocks still mark the place,
Where she met his stern embrace.

Stranger, curious, wouldst thou learn
Why she mourns her wasted urn,
Soon a short and simple verse
Shall her hapless fate rehearse.

Ere yon neighbouring spires arose,
Which the upland prospect close,
Or ere along the startled shore,
Echoed loud the cannon's roar;

Once the maid, in summer's heat,
Careless left her cool retreat,
And by sultry suns oppress'd,
Laid her weary limbs to rest;

Forgetful of her daily toil
To trace each humid tract of soil,
From dews and bounteous showers to bring
The liquid treasures of the spring:

Enfeebled by the scorching ray
She slept the sultry hours away,
And when she oped her languid eye,
She found her silver urn was dry.

Heedless stranger, that so long
Hast listened to an idle song,
While trifles thus thy notice share,
Hast thou no urn that claims thy care?

Stranger , that with careless feet
Wanderest near this green retreat,
Where, thro' gently winding slopes,
Soft the distant prospect opes;

Where the fern in fringed pride
Decks the lonely valley's side;
Where the white-throat chirps her song,
Flitting as thou tread'st along:

Know, where now thy footsteps pass
O'er the bending tufts of grass,
Bright gleaming thro' the encircling wood,
Once a Naiad rolled her flood.

If her urn, unknown to fame,
Pour'd no far extended stream,
Yet along its glassy side
Clear and constant rolled the tide.

Grateful for the tribute paid,
Lordly Mersey loved the maid;
Yonder rocks still mark the place,
Where she met his stern embrace.

Stranger, curious, wouldst thou learn
Why she mourns her wasted urn,
Soon a short and simple verse
Shall her hapless fate rehearse.

Ere yon neighbouring spires arose,
Which the upland prospect close,
Or ere along the startled shore,
Echoed loud the cannon's roar;

Once the maid, in summer's heat,
Careless left her cool retreat,
And by sultry suns oppress'd,
Laid her weary limbs to rest;

Forgetful of her daily toil
To trace each humid tract of soil,
From dews and bounteous showers to bring
The liquid treasures of the spring:

Enfeebled by the scorching ray
She slept the sultry hours away,
And when she oped her languid eye,
She found her silver urn was dry.

Heedless stranger, that so long
Hast listened to an idle song,
While trifles thus thy notice share,
Hast thou no urn that claims thy care?