River Scene

Bernard Barton

31 January 1784 to 19 February 1849 (~65)

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For many a flower does blossom there, to bless

On either hand to guide the footsteps frail

With beauty, and with fragrance to imbue

Of first and second childhood; while below,

It chanteth to the flowers that on its margin grow.

O come and stand with me upon this ridge

That overlooks the sweet secluded vale;

Before us is a little rustic bridge,

A simple plank; and by its side a rail,

Trembles at every breeze within its leafy bower.

Like a sweet undersong, which in its flow

And cowslip, in whose cup the morning dew

The lily of the vale, whose virgin flower

And, last of all, and fairest to the view,

The starlike daisy, violet deeply blue,

The murmuring brooklet tells its babbling tale,

The borders—strawberry of the wilderness,

Glistens unspent till noontide's languid hour;

Stanza 1

O come and stand with me upon this ridge

That overlooks the sweet secluded vale;

Before us is a little rustic bridge,

A simple plank; and by its side a rail,

On either hand to guide the footsteps frail

Of first and second childhood; while below,

The murmuring brooklet tells its babbling tale,

Like a sweet undersong, which in its flow

It chanteth to the flowers that on its margin grow.

Stanza 2

For many a flower does blossom there, to bless

With beauty, and with fragrance to imbue

The borders—strawberry of the wilderness,

The starlike daisy, violet deeply blue,

And cowslip, in whose cup the morning dew

Glistens unspent till noontide's languid hour;

And, last of all, and fairest to the view,

The lily of the vale, whose virgin flower

Trembles at every breeze within its leafy bower.

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River Scene

by Bernard Barton

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