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‹‹‹ prev (403) Page 385Page 385Mountain stream

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There the lapwing, wheeling
O'er its tufted den,
Sees thee winding, stealing,
Down into the glen.
Leaving far behind thee
Moor and misty hill.
Lone, where few may find thee,
Sporting at thy will.
O'er the slant rocks sliding
Swift in arrowy spray,
Under moss-banks hiding,
Wimpling on thy way ;
Now, with gleesome glisten
'Neath the braken shade,
Lingering there to listen
Music from the glade.
Now, swift, onward bounding
Careless in thy sweep.
Joyfully resounding
O'er the crags ye leap ;
Then, slow reappearing
Ovit from tangled gloom,
'Mong the boulders steering.
Wreathed with snowy foam.
There, with golden dazzle,
Shines the sunny ray
Through the leafy hazel
Where ye lingering stray ;
There pale flow'rets blossom
In the mossy nook,
And upon thy bosom
Lady birch-trees look.

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