The River Wainsbeck

While slowly wanders thy sequestered stream,
  WAINSBECK, the mossy-scattered rocks among,
  In fancy's ear making a plaintive song
  To the dark woods above, that waving seem
  To bend o'er some enchanted spot, removed
  From life's vain coil; I listen to the wind,
  And think I hear meek Sorrow's plaint, reclined
  O'er the forsaken tomb of him she loved!--
  Fair scenes, ye lend a pleasure, long unknown,
  To him who passes weary on his way;--
  Yet recreated here he may delay
  A while to thank you; and when years have flown,
  And haunts that charmed his youth he would renew,
  In the world's crowd he will remember you.