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Updated: May 11, 2025
As o'er the streamlet's crystal flood The banks with checkered dances hover, The flowery mead, the sunset's light, Thus gleams, life's barren pathway over, Poesy's shadowy world so bright. In bridal dress ye led us on Before the terrible Unknown, Before the inexorable fate, As in your urns the bones are laid, With beauteous magic veil ye shade The chorus dread that cares create.
Then rise those crags, that mountain tower. Which charmed my fancy's wakening hour, Though no broad river swept along To claim perchance heroic song; Though sighed no groves in summer gale To prompt of love a softer tale; Though scarce a puny streamlet's speed Claimed homage from a shepherd's reed; Yet was poetic impulse given, By the green hill and clear blue heaven.
We too were carried on like a mad torrent that could not stay itself, and in the front we cut furiously with our swords at the tail of their long line whenever chance was afforded. Not many so we slew, but a number tripped over in the rush were trampled underfoot, or threw themselves in the streamlet's bed, wherein afterwards they were speedily slain.
He drew it from, his pocket, and while his steed clipped the tender herbage from the streamlet's bank, he made an excellent breakfast of the corn bread and bacon, and other substantial edibles, which his kind friend had bountifully supplied. Man and horse thus refreshed, he remounted, and rode forward at a gallant pace, the strong animal he bestrode seeming as yet to show no signs of fatigue.
Silent as infant at the breast, Save a still sound that speaks of rest, That streamlet's murmuring?" Wilson. When the governor had communicated to his people that the savages were actually among the islands of their own group, something very like a panic came over them.
How long and sternly must we be trained e'er love's young dream can be forgotten." The events that intervened all passed away, and Ella was again the same maiden that stood with me so long ago by the streamlet's side on Walburga's eve. My heart's long silenced music once more rung forth its melody at her sweet words, and life again was bright with the gems of hope and fond affection.
Of a busier life 'tis well to speak, Where four worlds their wealth to barter seek, On the world's great market, Thames' broad stream; Ships in thousands go there and depart There are seen the costliest works of art, And the earth-god, Mammon, reigns supreme But the sun his image only graves On the silent streamlet's level plain, Not upon the torrent's muddy waves, Swollen by the heavy rain.
What would become of their morals, their character, their purity of heart and life, their hope for time and eternity? What would become of all those thousand ties of sweetness, benevolence, love, and Christian feeling, that now render our young men and young maidens like comely plants growing up by a streamlet's side, the graces and the grace of opening manhood, of blossoming womanhood?
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