The Tweed Visited

O Tweed! a stranger, that with wandering feet O'er hill and dale has journeyed many a mile, (If so his weary thoughts he might beguile), Delighted turns thy stranger-stream to greet. The waving branches that romantic bend O'er thy tall banks a soothing charm bestow; The murmurs of thy wandering wave below Seem like the converse of some long-lost friend. Delightful stream! though now along thy shore, When spring returns in all her wonted pride, The distant pastoral pipe is heard no more; Yet here while laverocks sing could I abide, Far from the stormy world's contentious roar, To muse upon thy banks at eventide.