Yet, methinks, tho’ I cannot tell why,
I should hate to be merry like them.
When I walk’d in the pride of the dawn,
Methought all the region look’d bright;
Has sweetness forsaken the lawn?
For, methinks, I grow sad at the sight.
When I stood by the stream, I have thought
There was mirth in the tremulous sound,
But now ’tis a sorrowful note,
And the banks are all gloomy around!