And where the heather tufts are spread;
I know where the meadow-sweets exhale,
And the white valerians load the gale.
I know the spot the bees love best,
And where the linnet has built her nest.
I know the bushes the grouse frequent,
And the nooks where the shy deer browse the bent.
I know each tree to thy fountain head--
The lady birches, slim and fair;

[Illustration]

The feathery larch, the rowans red,
The brambles trailing their tangled hair;
And each is link'd to my waking thought
By some remembrance fancy-fraught.

[Illustration]

Yet, lovely stream, unknown to fame,
Thou hast oozed, and flow'd, and leap'd, and run,
Ever since Time its course begun,
Without a record, without a name.
I ask'd the shepherd on the hill--
He knew thee but as a common rill;
I ask'd the farmer's blue-eyed daughter--
She knew thee but as a running water;
I ask'd the boatman on the shore
(He was never ask'd to tell before)--
Thou wert a brook, and nothing more.