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V. To the River Tweed.

Written by: William Lisle Bowles | Biography
 O TWEED! a stranger, that with wand'ring feet 
O'er hill and dale has journey'd many a mile, 
(If so his weary thoughts he might beguile) 
Delighted turns thy beauteous scenes to greet. 
The waving branches that romantick bend 
O'er thy tall banks, a soothing charm bestow; 
The murmurs of thy wand'ring wave below 
Seem to his ear the pity of a friend. 
Delightful stream! tho' now along thy shore, 
When spring returns in all her wonted pride, 
The shepherd's distant pipe is heard no more, 
Yet here with pensive peace could I abide, 
Far from the stormy world's tumultuous roar, 
To muse upon thy banks at eventide.



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