With bright and playful flow;
And little fish still sport and glide,
Where yon low elder shades the tide,
As they did long ago.
The white-oak stands before the door,
And shades the roof at noon;
The grape-vine, too, is fresh and green;
The robin’s nest!—Ah, hark!—I ween
That is the same old tune!
The swallows skip across the mead—