Mark'st thou yon streamlet in its onward course?
Mark'st thou the reed that on its surface floats?
Lightly it drifts along, and well denotes
The light impression on the youthful breast,
Which, in life's summer, transiently imprest,
Glides o'er the mind, unfix'd by stable force:
But o'er the fading year, when winter reigns,
Chill sleeps the stream, its wonted current stay'd,
And on its bosom, where of late it play'd,
Frolic and light the reed infix'd remains.
Thus, when life's wintry season, cold and hoar,
Freezes the genial flow of mental power,
The mind, tenacious of its gather'd store,
Detains each thought belov'd, conceiv'd in vernal hour.