SONNET TO THE RIVER ARUN.
(For the Mirror.)
Pure Stream! whose waters gently glide along,
In murmuring cadence to the Poet’s ear,
Who, stretch’d at ease your flowery banks among,
Views with delight your glassy surface clear,
Roll pleasing on through Otways sainted wood;
Where “musing Pity” still delights to mourn,
And kiss the spot where oft her votary stood,