Poetry Archives

O tweed! a stranger, that with wand’ring feet
  O’er hill and dale has journey’d many a mile,
  (If so his weary thoughts he might beguile)
Delighted turns thy beauteous scenes to greet.
  The waving branches that romantick bend
O’er thy tall banks, a soothing charm bestow;
The murmurs of thy wand’ring wave below
  Seem to his ear the pity of a friend.
Delightful stream! tho’ now along thy shore,
  When spring returns in all her wonted pride,
The shepherd’s distant pipe is heard no more,
  Yet here with pensive peace could I abide,
Far from the stormy world’s tumultuous roar,
  To muse upon thy banks at eventide.