(to a brook near the village of Corston.)

As thus I bend me o'er thy babbling stream
 And watch thy current, Memory's hand pourtrays
 The faint form'd scenes of the departed days,
 Like the far forest by the moon's pale beam
 Dimly descried yet lovely. I have worn
 Upon thy banks the live-long hour away,
 When sportive Childhood wantoned thro'the day,
 Joy'd at the opening splendour of the morn,
 Or as the twilight darken'd, heaved the sigh
 Thinking of distant home; as down my cheek
 At the fond thought slow stealing on, would speak
 The silent eloquence of the full eye.
 Dim are the long past days, yet still they please
As thy soft sounds half heard, borne on the inconstant breeze.