Classic Poem

Flow soft River, gently stray,
— Still a silent waving tide
— O'er thy glitt'ring carpet glide,
While I chaunt my Roundelay,
As I gather from thy bank,
Shelter'd by the poplar dank,
King-cups, deck'd in golden pride,
Harebells sweet, and daisies pied;
While beneath the evening sky,
Soft the western breezes fly.
Gentle River, should'st thou be
Touch'd with mournful sympathy,
— When reflection tells my soul,
Winter's icy breath shall quell
Thy sweet bosom's graceful swell,
— And thy dimpling course controul;
— Should a crystal tear of mine,
Fall upon thy lucid breast,
Oh receive the trembling guest,
— For 'tis Pity's drop divine!
— Gentle Zephyr, softly play,
Shake thy dewy wings around,
Sprinkle odours o'er the ground,
— While I chaunt my Roundelay.
While the woodbine's mingling shade,
Veils my pensive, drooping head;
— Fan, oh fan, the busy gale,
That rudely wantons round my cheek,
Where the tear of suff'rance meek,
— Glitters on the Lily pale:
Ah! no more the damask Rose,
There in crimson lustre glows;
Thirsty fevers from my lip
Dare the ruddy drops to sip;
Deep within my burning heart,
Sorrow plants an icy dart;
From whose point the soft tears flow,
Melting in the vivid glow;
Gentle Zephyr, should'st thou be
Touch'd with tender sympathy;
When reflection calls to mind,
The bleak and desolating wind,
That soon thy silken wing shall tear,
And waft it on the freezing air;
Zephyr, should a tender sigh
To thy balmy bosom fly,
Oh! receive the flutt'ring thing,
Place it on thy filmy wing,
Bear it to its native sky,
For 'tis Pity's softest sigh.
— O'er the golden lids of day
Steals a veil of sober grey;
Now the flow'rets sink to rest,
On the moist earth's glitt'ring breast;
Homeward now I'll bend my way,
And chaunt my plaintive Roundelay.

Flow soft River, gently stray,
— Still a silent waving tide
— O'er thy glitt'ring carpet glide,
While I chaunt my Roundelay,
As I gather from thy bank,
Shelter'd by the poplar dank,
King-cups, deck'd in golden pride,
Harebells sweet, and daisies pied;
While beneath the evening sky,
Soft the western breezes fly.
Gentle River, should'st thou be
Touch'd with mournful sympathy,
— When reflection tells my soul,
Winter's icy breath shall quell
Thy sweet bosom's graceful swell,
— And thy dimpling course controul;
— Should a crystal tear of mine,
Fall upon thy lucid breast,
Oh receive the trembling guest,
— For 'tis Pity's drop divine!
— Gentle Zephyr, softly play,
Shake thy dewy wings around,
Sprinkle odours o'er the ground,
— While I chaunt my Roundelay.
While the woodbine's mingling shade,
Veils my pensive, drooping head;
— Fan, oh fan, the busy gale,
That rudely wantons round my cheek,
Where the tear of suff'rance meek,
— Glitters on the Lily pale:
Ah! no more the damask Rose,
There in crimson lustre glows;
Thirsty fevers from my lip
Dare the ruddy drops to sip;
Deep within my burning heart,
Sorrow plants an icy dart;
From whose point the soft tears flow,
Melting in the vivid glow;
Gentle Zephyr, should'st thou be
Touch'd with tender sympathy;
When reflection calls to mind,
The bleak and desolating wind,
That soon thy silken wing shall tear,
And waft it on the freezing air;
Zephyr, should a tender sigh
To thy balmy bosom fly,
Oh! receive the flutt'ring thing,
Place it on thy filmy wing,
Bear it to its native sky,
For 'tis Pity's softest sigh.
— O'er the golden lids of day
Steals a veil of sober grey;
Now the flow'rets sink to rest,
On the moist earth's glitt'ring breast;
Homeward now I'll bend my way,
And chaunt my plaintive Roundelay.