the lowlands is a brook and in the highlands Running 

 a burn, yet than the one is swifter and than Waters, 

 the other is less debonair and impetuous) that 

 I have been constrained to ask leave to let it 

 appear here as a natural close of running 

 waters at the end of this brief paper on a 

 theme in whose very title lie old music and 

 dream and subtly incalculable spell. 



"The Hill-Water 



" There is a little brook, 

 I love it well : 

 It hath so sweet a sound 

 That even in dreams my ears could tell 

 Its music anywhere. 

 Often I wander there, 

 And leave my book 

 Unread upon the ground, 

 Eager to quell 

 In the hush'd air 



That dwells above its flowing forehead fair 

 All that about my heart hath wound 

 A ti-ouble of care : 

 Or, it may be, idly to spell 

 Its runic music rare, 

 And with its singing soul to share 

 Its ancient lore profound : 

 For sweet it is to be the echoing shell 

 That lists and inly keeps that murmurous miracle. 



" About it all day long 

 In this June-tide 

 There is a myriad song. 



143 



