The current, that with gentle murmur glides,
Thou know’st, being stopped, impatiently
doth rage;
But, when his fair course is not hindered,
He makes sweet music with the enamelled
stones,
Giving a gentle kiss to every sedge
He overtaketh in his pilgrimage.
Two Gentlemen of Verona, Act ii. Sc.
7. SHAKESPEARE.
Mine be the breezy hill that skirts the
down;
Where a green grassy turf is all I crave,
With here and there a violet bestrewn,
Fast by a brook or fountain’s murmuring
wave:
And many an evening sun shine sweetly
on my grave.
The Minstrel, Book II. J. BEATTIE.
Along thy wild and willowed shore;
Where’er thou wind’st, by
dale or hill,
All, all is peaceful, all is still.
Lay of the Last Minstrel, Canto IV. SIR
W. SCOTT.
With spots of sunny openings, and with
nooks
To lie and read in, sloping into brooks.
The Story of Rimini. L. HUNT.
The torrent’s smoothness, ere it dash below! Gertrude, Pt. III. T. CAMPBELL.
Thou hastenest down between the hills
to meet me at the road,
The secret scarcely lisping of thy beautiful
abode
Among the pines and mosses of yonder shadowy
height.
Where thou dost sparkle into song, and
fill the woods with light.
Friend Brook. LUCY LARCOM.
Brook! whose society the poet seeks,
Intent his wasted spirits to renew;
And whom the curious painter doth pursue
Through rocky passes, among flowery creeks.
And tracks thee dancing down thy water
breaks.
Brook! Whose Society the Poet Seeks.
W. WORDSWORTH.
The roar of waters!—from the
headlong height
Velino cleaves the wave-worn precipice;
The fall of waters! rapid as the light
The flashing mass foams shaking the abyss;
The hell of waters! where they howl and
hiss,
And boil in endless torture.
Childe Harold, Canto IV. LORD BYRON.
Let beeves and home-bred kine partake
The sweets of Burn-mill meadow;
The swan on still St. Mary’s Lake
Float double, swan and shadow!
Yarrow Unvisited. W. WORDSWORTH.
Under the cooling shadow of a stately
elm,
Close sat I by a goodly river’s
side.
Where gliding streams the rocks did overwhelm;
A lonely place, with pleasures
dignified.
I, that once loved the shady woods so
well.
Now thought the rivers did
the trees excel,
And if the sun would ever shine, there
would I dwell.
Contemplations. ANNE BRADSTREET.
Two ways the rivers
Leap down to different seas, and as they
roll
Grow deep and still, and their majestic
presence
Becomes a benefaction to the towns
They visit, wandering silently among them,
Like patriarchs old among their shining
tents.
Christus: The Golden Legend, Pt. V
H.W. LONGFELLOW.