And oh! how oft by sorrow overborne,
By care oppressed, or bitter malice wrung,
By friends betrayed, or disappointment torn,
My weary heart, all sickened and unstrung—
Hath yearned to leave the bootless strife afar,
And find beneath this oak a quiet grave,
Where the rough echo of the world's loud jar,
Yields to the music of the mellow wave!
And now again I stand this stream beside;
Again I hear the silver ripples flow—