The Tweed Visited

O Tweed! a stranger, that with wandering feet
  O'er hill and dale has journeyed many a mile,
  (If so his weary thoughts he might beguile),
  Delighted turns thy stranger-stream to greet.
  The waving branches that romantic bend
  O'er thy tall banks a soothing charm bestow;
  The murmurs of thy wandering wave below
  Seem like the converse of some long-lost friend.
  Delightful stream! though now along thy shore,
  When spring returns in all her wonted pride,
  The distant pastoral pipe is heard no more;
  Yet here while laverocks sing could I abide,
  Far from the stormy world's contentious roar,
  To muse upon thy banks at eventide.