WATERS.
Water is the mother of the vine,
The nurse and fountain of fecundity.
The adorner and refresher of the world.
The Dionysia. C. MACKAY.
Till taught by pain,
Men really know not what good water's worth;
If you had been in Turkey or in Spain,
Or with a famished boat's-crew had your berth,
Or in the desert heard the camel's bell,
You'd wish yourself where Truth is—in a well.
Don Juan, Canto II. LORD BYRON.
Water its living strength first shows,
When obstacles its course oppose.
God, Soul, and World. J.W. GOETHE.
The current, that with gentle murmur glides,
Thou know'st, being stopped, impatiently doth rage;
But, when his fair course is not hinderèd,
He makes sweet music with the enamelled stones,
Giving a gentle kiss to every sedge
He overtaketh in his pilgrimage.
Two Gentlemen of Verona, Act ii. Sc. 7. SHAKESPEARE.
Mine be the breezy hill that skirts the down;
Where a green grassy turf is all I crave,
With here and there a violet bestrewn,
Fast by a brook or fountain's murmuring wave:
And many an evening sun shine sweetly on my grave.
The Minstrel, Book II. J. BEATTIE.
Along thy wild and willowed shore;
Where'er thou wind'st, by dale or hill,
All, all is peaceful, all is still.
Lay of the Last Minstrel, Canto IV. SIR W. SCOTT.
With spots of sunny openings, and with nooks
To lie and read in, sloping into brooks.
The Story of Rimini. L. HUNT.
The torrent's smoothness, ere it dash below!
Gertrude, Pt. III. T. CAMPBELL.
Thou hastenest down between the hills to meet me at the road,
The secret scarcely lisping of thy beautiful abode
Among the pines and mosses of yonder shadowy height.
Where thou dost sparkle into song, and fill the woods with light.
Friend Brook. LUCY LARCOM.
Brook! whose society the poet seeks,
Intent his wasted spirits to renew;
And whom the curious painter doth pursue
Through rocky passes, among flowery creeks.
And tracks thee dancing down thy water breaks.
Brook! Whose Society the Poet Seeks.
W. WORDSWORTH.
The roar of waters!—from the headlong height
Velino cleaves the wave-worn precipice;
The fall of waters! rapid as the light
The flashing mass foams shaking the abyss;
The hell of waters! where they howl and hiss,
And boil in endless torture.
Childe Harold, Canto IV. LORD BYRON.
Let beeves and home-bred kine partake
The sweets of Burn-mill meadow;
The swan on still St. Mary's Lake
Float double, swan and shadow!
Yarrow Unvisited. W. WORDSWORTH.
Under the cooling shadow of a stately elm,
Close sat I by a goodly river's side.
Where gliding streams the rocks did overwhelm;
A lonely place, with pleasures dignified.
I, that once loved the shady woods so well.
Now thought the rivers did the trees excel,
And if the sun would ever shine, there would I dwell.
Contemplations. ANNE BRADSTREET.
Two ways the rivers
Leap down to different seas, and as they roll
Grow deep and still, and their majestic presence
Becomes a benefaction to the towns
They visit, wandering silently among them,
Like patriarchs old among their shining tents.
Christus: The Golden Legend, Pt. V H.W. LONGFELLOW.
Sweet Teviot! on thy silver tide
The glaring bale-fires blaze no more;
No longer steel-clad warriors ride
Along thy wild and willowed shore.
Lay of the Last Minstrel, Canto IV. SIR W. SCOTT.
Is it not better, then, to be alone.
And love Earth only for its earthly sake?
By the blue rushing of the arrowy Rhone
Or the pure bosom of its nursing lake…?
Childe Harold, Canto III. LORD BYRON.