THE BATH OF THE STREAMS.

Down unto the ocean,

Trembling with emotion,

Panting at the notion,

See the rivers run —

In the golden weather,

Tripping o'er the heather,

Laughing all together —

Madcaps every one.

Like a troop of girls

In their loosen'd curls,

See, the concourse whirls

Onward wild with glee;

List their tuneful tattle,

Hear their pretty prattle,

How they'll love to battle

With the assailing sea.

See, the winds pursue them,

See, the willows woo them

See, the lakelets view them

Wistfully afar,

With a wistful wonder

Down the green slopes under,

Wishing, too, to thunder

O'er their prison bar.

Wishing, too, to wander

By the sea-waves yonder,

There awhile to squander

All their silvery stores,

There awhile forgetting

All their vain regretting

When their foam went fretting

Round the rippling shores.

Round the rocky region,

Whence their prison'd legion,

Oft and oft besieging,

Vainly sought to break,

Vainly sought to throw them

O'er the vales below them,

Through the clefts that show them

Paths they dare not take.

But the swift streams speed them

In the might of freedom,

Down the paths that lead them

Joyously along.

Blinding green recesses

With their floating tresses,

Charming wildernesses

With their murmuring song.

Now the streams are gliding

With a sweet abiding —

Now the streams are hiding

‘ Mid the whispering reeds —

Now the streams outglancing

With a shy advancing

Naiad-like go dancing

Down the golden meads.

Down the golden meadows,

Chasing their own shadows —

Down the golden meadows,

Playing as they run:

Playing with the sedges,

By the water's edges,

Leaping o'er the ledges,

Glist'ning in the sun:

Streams and streamlets blending,

Each on each attending,

All together wending,

Seek the silver sands;

Like the sisters holding

With a fond enfolding —

Like to sisters holding

One another's hands.

Now with foreheads blushing

With a rapturous flushing —

Now the streams are rushing

In among the waves.

Now in shy confusion,

With a pale suffusion,

Seek the wild seclusion

Of sequestered caves.

All the summer hours

Hiding in the bowers,

Scattering silver showers

Out upon the strand;

O'er the pebbles crashing,

Through the ripples splashing,

Liquid pearl-wreaths dashing

From each other's hand.

By yon mossy boulder,

See an ivory shoulder,

Dazzling the beholder,

Rises o'er the blue;

But a moment's thinking,

Sends the Naiad sinking,

With a modest shrinking,

From the gazer's view.

Now the wave compresses

All their golden tresses —

Now their sea-green dresses

Float them o'er the tide;

Now with elf-locks dripping

From the brine they're sipping,

With a fairy tripping,

Down the green waves glide.

Some that scarce have tarried

By the shore are carried

Sea-ward to be married

To the glad gods there:

Triton's horn is playing,

Neptune's steeds are neighing,

Restless with delaying

For a bride so fair.

See at first the river

How its pale lips quiver,

How its white waves shiver

With a fond unrest;

List how low it sigheth,

See how swift it flieth,

Till at length it lieth

On the ocean's breast.

Such is Youth's admiring,

Such is Love's desiring,

Such is Hope's aspiring

For the higher goal;

Such is man's condition

Till in heaven's fruition

Ends the mystic mission

Of the eternal soul.