POETRY SACRED AND PROFANE. TO THE RIVER. TRENT. AMERICA may justly boast Of navigable streams that flow A thousand leagues, to greet the coast But wide as her dominions spread, No current holds so proud a sway, When rolling o'er its native bed, As thou on thy majestic way. B Thy limpid waters catch the light Emitted from its parent source, And shed a pure, unmixed delight On man and beast throughout their course. The natant tribes that dwell within Thine ample bosom leap for joy, And stealing on rapacious fin, The light aërial guests decoy. The drooping willows kiss the wave And sweet aquatics softly lave Their glad recumbent arms to rest. Presiding elms on whose fair height The noisy rooks securely sleep, Behold amidst the festive sight Their image mirrored on the deep. The graceful swallow skims along The surface of thy bright domain,— Disporting with the insect throng That flutter in its wanton train. Thy sloping banks present a sweet Enchantment to the wandering gaze Of youth, whose enterprising feet Skip o'er them in fantastic ways. Hither will oft a parent roam With infancy in fond embrace, When sickness has invaded home With terrors that her bodings trace. And men released from anxious care, Or daily toil, as well resort To thee for pure refreshing air, While exercised in healthful sport. |