V. To The River Tweed.

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.