But yet, though roll'd thy billows fair
As e'er roll'd those of classic stream—
Though green thy woods, now dark and bare,
Bask'd beauteous in the western beam;
To mark a scene that childhood loved,
The anxious eye was turned in vain;
Nor could I find the friend approved,
That shared my joy or soothed my pain.
Now winter reigns: these hills no more
Shall sternly bound my anxious view