I STOOD beside a pleasant stream,

Where spicy boughs were wreathing;

Its gentle ripples came and went

Like sleeping infants breathing.

The lily press'd its dewy cheek

Upon the kissing billow,

And slumber'd like a summer bride

Upon her nuptial pillow.

Yet, by this stream a dark rock tower'd

Like fane in forest waving;

Deep furrows shown within its side,

Wrought by the ripples laving!

I gazed upon the sunny stream,

And thought of sunny faces,

And wonder'd how such gentle waves

Could leave such angry traces.

Again I stood within the hall

Where Wealth her glow was shedding;

The spacious dome seem'd lighted up

For some grand princely wedding.

The moon look'd down on golden spires,

As if to give a greeting;

One would have thought, amid the show,

'Twas Pleasure's natal meeting.

Yet there, within that hall, that night

I saw the discontented;

I saw pale faces mark'd with care,

Like spirits unrepented.

I gazed upon the princely hall

Where wealth had blown her bubble,

And wonder'd how, amid such show,

There could be aught of trouble.

And thus, I said, amid Life's glare—

Amid this world of hurry—

'Tis true that "tongues we find in trees,

And sermons in the quarry!"

Our life is like yon little stream,

Where ripples are retreating;

And Pleasure, though array'd in smiles,

Hath spots where Care is eating.

Our life is like a summer stream

That lulls us into slumber;

We dream we're happy for a while,

While waves in countless number,

Though gentle in their ceaseless flow,

Are every day and morrow,

Still chafing in the shores of Life

Some secret marks of sorrow!