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The Brooklet.
FROM THE GERMAN.
THOU silver brooklet, bright and clear,
That hasten'st ever swiftly here,
Whence com'st, where goest thou? I think,
While standing on thy verdant brink.
I come from lonely forest glade,
In primrose paths my course has strayed,
My surface floating shadows dye
In pictures of the azure sky.
I own sweet childhood's want of care,
It drives me on, I know not where;
The Author of my silver tide,
In him I trust, he is my guide.
A. L. H.
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