Book Description

Excerpt from The Poetical Works of Robert Buchanan Down the River. How merry a life the little River leads, Piping a vagrant ditty free from care; Now rippling as it rustles through the reeds And broad-leaved lilies sailing here and there, Now lying level with the clover meads And musing in a mist of golden air! Bearing a pastoral peace where'er it goes, Narrow'd to mirth or broaden'd to repose: Through copsy villages and tiny towns, By belts of woodland singing sweet, Pausing where sun and shadow meet Without the darkness of the breezy downs, Bickering o'er the keystone as it flows 'Neath mossy bridges arch'd like maiden feet; And slowly widening as it seaward grows, Because its summer mission grows complete. Run seaward, for I follow! Let me cross My garden-threshold ankle-deep in moss. Sweet Stream, your heart is beating and I hear it, As conscious of its pleasure as a girl's: O little River, whom I love so well, Is it with something of a human spirit You twine those lilies in your sedgy curls? Take up the inner voice we both inherit, O little River of my love, and tell! The rain has craw led from yonder mountain-side, And passing, left its footprints far and wide. The path I follow winds by cliff and scar, Purple and dark and trodden as I pass, The foxglove droops, the crocus lifts its star, And bluebells brighten in the dewy grass. Over deep pools the willow hangs its hair, Dwarf birches show their sodden roots and shake Their melting jewels on my bending brows, The mottled mavis pipes among their boughs For joy of five unborn in yonder brake. The River, narrow'd to a woody glen, Leaps trembling o'er a little rocky ledge, Then broadens forward into calm again Where the gray moor-hen builds her nest of sedge; Caught in the dark those willow-trees have made, Lipping the yellow lilies o'er and o'er, It flutters twenty feet along the shade, Halts at the sunshine like a thing afraid, And turns to kiss the lilies yet once more. Those little falls are lurid with the rain That ere the day is done will come again. The River falters swoll'n and brown, Falters, falters, as it nears them, Shuddering back as if it fears them, Falters, falters, falters, falters, Then dizzily rushes down. But all is calm again, the little River Smiles on and sings the song it sings for ever. Here at the curve it passes tilth and farm, And faintly flowing onward to the mill It stretches out a little azure arm To aid the miller, aiding with a will, And singing, singing still. About the Publisher Forgotten Books publishes hundreds of thousands of rare and classic books. Find more at www.forgottenbooks.com This book is a reproduction of an important historical work. Forgotten Books uses state-of-the-art technology to digitally reconstruct the work, preserving the original format whilst repairing imperfections present in the aged copy. In rare cases, an imperfection in the original, such as a blemish or missing page, may be replicated in our edition. We do, however, repair the vast majority of imperfections successfully; any imperfections that remain are intentionally left to preserve the state of such historical works.