44
Not Understood
THE BROOKLET IN THE GLEN.
ITS mellow song
The whole night long
Is borne around the tranquil vale,
And through the day
In cheerful lay
It chants a never ending tale
The hist’ry of its life and birth,
The secrets of the valley, when
From the effusive pores of earth,
God called it down the glen.
The whole night long
Is borne around the tranquil vale,
And through the day
In cheerful lay
It chants a never ending tale
The hist’ry of its life and birth,
The secrets of the valley, when
From the effusive pores of earth,
God called it down the glen.
The Tui’s trill,
Upon the hill,
Is answered by a thousand notes,
Till one grand swell
From nook and dell
Upon the morning ether floats;
But in a voice subdued and low,
Which tells of things beyond our ken,
The brooklet’s gentle accents flow,
Meandering down the glen.
Upon the hill,
Is answered by a thousand notes,
Till one grand swell
From nook and dell
Upon the morning ether floats;
But in a voice subdued and low,
Which tells of things beyond our ken,
The brooklet’s gentle accents flow,
Meandering down the glen.
Old ocean hoarse,
Ejects with force
His foaming tongue to lap the beach;
But all in vain
He tries to gain
The upland prize he cannot reach
True reflex of the passions wild
Which stir the restless souls of men—
The brooklet is a careless child
That prattles down the glen.
Ejects with force
His foaming tongue to lap the beach;
But all in vain
He tries to gain
The upland prize he cannot reach
True reflex of the passions wild
Which stir the restless souls of men—
The brooklet is a careless child
That prattles down the glen.
