A DREAM OF SPRING TIME. 12,7 



Woos us to that charming valley, 



Through which runs the " Sacred Dee," 

 Over rocks with sudden sally, 



Or through deeps of mystery ; 

 Where the noble salmon hideth, 



Or where leaps the speckled trout. 

 Or grim patriarch abideth. 



Which no angler hath found out ! 



Woos us to the flowing river, 



Where it laves the mystic hill,t 

 On whose top the tall pines quiver. 



Musical, if seeming still : 

 Where the spirit of Glendower, 



Seems to beckon us away 

 From the city to his bower ; 



Come ! O come ! he seems to say. 



f The hill of the tomb of Owen Glendower. 



