Classic Poem

AT THE BOTTOM OF A LARGE ROOT, ON THE SIDE OF A SLOPE .

O let me haunt this peaceful shade;
Nor let Ambition e'er invade
The tenants of this leafy bower,
That shun her paths, and slight her power!

Hither the peaceful Halcyon flies
From social meads and open skies;
Pleased by this rill her course to steer,
And hide her sapphire plumage here.

The trout, bedropt with crimson stains,
Forsakes the river's proud domains;
Forsakes the sun's unwelcome gleam,
To lurk within this humble stream.

And sure I hear the Naiad say,
Flow, flow, my stream, this devious way,
Though lovely soft thy murmurs are,
Thy waters lovely cool and fair.

Flow, gentle stream, nor let the vain
Thy small unsullied stores disdain:
Nor let the pensive sage repine,
Whose latent course resembles thine.