Page:Thirty poems (IA thirtypoems00bryarich).pdf/126

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POEMS.
Across the fair blue space. No little fountStole forth from hanging rock, or in the sideOf hollow dell, or under roots of oak,No rill came trickling, with a stripe of green,Down the bare hill, that to this maiden's eyesWas not familiar. Often did the banksOf river or of sylvan lakelet hearThe dip of oars with which the maiden rowedHer shallop, pushing ever from the prowA crowd of long, light ripples toward the shore. Two brothers had the maiden, and she thought,Within herself: "I would I were like them;For then I might go forth alone, to traceThe mighty rivers downward to the sea,And upward to the brooks that, through the year,Prattle to the cool valleys. I would knowWhat races drink their waters; how their chiefsBear rule, and how men worship there, and how
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