There 's Music in the Flowing Tide

There 's music in the flowing tide, there 's music in the air,
There 's music in the swallow's wing, that skims so lightly there,
There 's music in each waving tress of grove, and bower, and tree,
To eye and ear 'tis music all where Nature revels free.

There 's discord in the gilded halls where lordly rivals meet,
There 's discord where the harpers ring to beauty's glancing feet,
There 's discord 'neath the jewell'd robe, the wreath, the plume, the crest,
Wherever Fashion waves her wand, there discord rules the breast.

There 's music 'neath the cottage eaves, when, at the close of day,
Kind-hearted mirth and social ease the toiling hour repay;
Though coarse the fare, though rude the jest, that cheer that lowly board,
There loving hearts and honest lips sweet harmony afford!

Oh! who the music of the groves, the music of the heart,
Would barter for the city's din, the frigid tones of art?
The virtues flourish fresh and fair, where rural waters glide.
They shrink and wither, droop and die, where rolls that turbid tide.