And watch the flowers that stooped with glowing cheek,
To meet the romping ripples as they played.
Here is the spot which memory's magic glass
Hath often brought, arrayed in fadeless green,
Making this oak, this brook, this waving grass—
A simple group—fond Nature's fairest scene.
And as I roamed beside the Rhone or Rhine,
Or other favored stream, in after days,
With jealous love, this rivulet would shine,
Full on my heart, and claim accustomed praise.