Round-oak Spring

Sweet brook! I've met thee many a summer's day,
And ventured fearless in thy shallow flood,
And rambled oft thy sweet unwearied way,
'Neath willows cool that on thy margin stood,
With crowds of partners in my artless play,
Grasshopper, beetle, bee, and butterfly,
That frisked about, as though in merry mood,
To see their old companion sporting by.
Sweet brook! life's glories once were thine and mine,
Shades clothed thy spring that now doth naked lie,
On thy white boiling sand the sweet woodbine
Darkened, and dipt its flowers: — I mark and sigh,
And muse o'er troubles since we met the last,
Like too fond friends whose happiness is past.