Who choose such haunts, and joy to feel The beauties of this calm night steal

Like music o'er them, while they wooed The luxury of Solitude.

Welcome, ye gentle spirits; then,

Who love and feel for earth-chained men,

Who, in this hour, delight to dwell
By moss-clad oak and dripping cell, -
Who joy to haunt each age-dimmed spot,
Which ruder natures have forgot;
And, in majestic solitude,

Feel every pulse-stroke thrill of good
To all around, below, above;-

Ye are the co-mates whom I love!
While, lingering in this moonshine glade,
I dream of hopes that cannot fade;
And pour abroad those phantasies
That spring from holiest sympathies
With Nature's moods in this glad hour
Of silence, moonshine, beauty, power,
When the busy stir of man is gone,
And the soul is left with its God alone!

THE WATER! THE WATER!

THE Water; the Water!

The joyous brook for me,
That tuneth through the quiet night,
Its ever-living glee.

The Water! the Water!

That sleepless merry heart,

Which gurgles on unstintedly,

And loveth to impart

To all around it some small measure
Of its own most perfect pleasure.

The Water! the Water!

The gentle stream for me,

That gushes from the old gray stone,

Beside the alder tree.

The Water! the Water!

That ever-bubbling spring

I loved and looked on while a child,

In deepest wondering,

And asked it whence it came and went,

And when its treasures would be spent.

The Water! the Water!

The merry, wanton brook,
That bent itself to pleasure me,
Like mine own shepherd crook.
The Water! the Water!

That sang so sweet at noon,
And sweeter still all night, to win
Smiles from the pale proud moon,

And from the little fairy faces

That gleam in heaven's remotest places.

The Water! the Water!

The dear and blessed thing, That all day fed the little flowers

On its banks blossoming.

The Water! the Water!

That murmured in my ear,

Hymns of a saint-like purity,

That angels well might hear;

And whisper in the gates of heaven, How meek a pilgrim had been shriven.

The Water! the Water!

Where I have shed salt tears,

In loneliness and friendliness,

A thing of tender years. The Water! the Water!

Where I have happy been,

And showered upon its bosom flowers Culled from each meadow green,

And idly hoped my life would be

So crowned by love's idolatry.

The Water! the Water!

My heart yet burns to think

How cool thy fountain sparkled forth, For parched lip to drink.

The Water! the Water!

Of mine own native glen;

The gladsome tongue I oft have heard,

But ne'er shall hear again;

Though fancy fills my ear for aye
With sounds that live so far away!

The Water! the Water!

The mild and glassy wave,

Upon whose broomy banks I've longed

To find my silent grave.

The Water! the Water!

O blessed to me thou art;

Thus sounding in life's solitude,

The music of my heart,

And filling it, despite of sadness,

With dreamings of departed gladness.

The Water! the Water!

The mournful pensive tone,

That whispered to my heart how soon

This weary life was done.

The Water the Water!

That rolled so bright and free,

And bade me mark how beautiful

Was its soul's purity;

And how it glanced to heaven its wave,

As wandering on it sought its grave.