THE BROOK; AN IDYL. HERE, by this brook, we parted; I to the East And he for Italy-too late-too late : One whom the strong sons of the world despise ; O had he lived! In our schoolbooks we say, Of those that held their heads above the crowd, They flourish'd then or then; but life in him Could scarce be said to flourish, only touch'd Prattling the primrose fancies of the boy, To me that loved him; for "O brook,” he says, "O babbling brook," says Edmund in his rhyme, "Whence come you?" and the brook, why not? replies. I come from haunts of coot and hern, I make a sudden sally And sparkle out among the fern, To bicker down a valley. By thirty hills I hurry down, And half a hundred bridges. Till last by Philip's farm I flow To join the brimming river, For men may come and men may go, 'Poor lad, he died at Florence, quite worn out, Travelling to Naples. There is Darnley bridge, It has more ivy; there the river; and there Stands Philip's farm where brook and river meet. I chatter over stony ways, In little sharps and trebles, With many a curve my banks I fret With willow-weed and mallow. I chatter, chatter, as I flow To join the brimming river, For men may come and men may go, But I go on for ever. 'But Philip chatter'd more than brook or bird; Old Philip; all about the fields you caught His weary daylong chirping, like the dry High-elbow'd grigs that leap in summer grass. I wind about, and in and out, And here and there a foamy flake Upon me, as I travel With many a silvery waterbreak Above the golden gravel, And draw them all along, and flow To join the brimming river, For men may come and men may go, 'O darling Katie Willows, his one child! A maiden of our century, yet most meek; A daughter of our meadows, yet not coarse; |