Томас Прингл (Thomas Pringle)

The Nameless Stream

I found a Nameless Stream among the hills,
And traced its course through many a changeful scene;
Now gliding free through grassy uplands green,
And stately forests, fed by limpid rills;
Now dashing through dark grottos, where distils
The poison dew; then issuing all serene
'Mong flowery meads, where snow-white lilies screen
The wild-swan's whiter breast. At length it fills
Its deepening channels; flowing calmly on
To join the Ocean on his billowy beach.
—But that bright bourne its current ne'er shall reach:
It meets the thirsty Desert and is gone
To waste oblivion! Let its story teach
The fate of one — who sinks, like it, unknown. 

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