The River Wainsbeck

While slowly wanders thy sequestered stream, WAINSBECK, the mossy-scattered rocks among, In fancy's ear making a plaintive song To the dark woods above, that waving seem To bend o'er some enchanted spot, removed From life's vain coil; I listen to the wind, And think I hear meek Sorrow's plaint, reclined O'er the forsaken tomb of him she loved!-- Fair scenes, ye lend a pleasure, long unknown, To him who passes weary on his way;-- Yet recreated here he may delay A while to thank you; and when years have flown, And haunts that charmed his youth he would renew, In the world's crowd he will remember you.