While you go with me, reader, kind and good,
To a small tributary stream from Tweed,
Which, if you don't know, as I'm in the mood,
I'll do my best to teach you, if you'll read;
I'll introduce you to the stream Glenrude--
This name will do--'twas in a glen--indeed,
'Twas not its proper name--'twill do quite well,
Why I choose so to call it I shan't tell,

But still it was a very pretty river,
Or rather stream, as ever could be seen--
If not so wide as the great Guadalquiver,
Its banks were nearly always clothed in green,
(Save when in winter the winds made you shiver,)
While the waves, bickering so bright and sheen,
Put you in mind of Avon, Rhine, or Hellespont,
Or any other stream to admire you're wont.

And round about the stream there were huge hillocks,
And firs and mountains, houses too and farms;
A maid lay on the grass--her light and fair locks
Were gently wound around her folded arms,
While softly grazing near there stood a huge ox,
And o'er her head an old oak threw its arms.
She was asleep, when, lo! the sound of horses'
Feet woke her, and, behold, she saw two corses.

At least she thought so--but at last thought better
'Twould be for her to get up and go home;
She got up quickly, and would soon have made her