David Gray
Pactolus singeth over golden sand;
Scamander, old and blood-empurpled river,
Rolls yet her divine waters ; Castaly
Flows lucid in the light of ancient song ;
Whilst thou, sweet Luggie! fairest of this land,
And fair as any of that famous throng,
In pastoral, still loveliness, must be
Bald as a marshy brooklet nameless ever!
Nay, by the spirit of beauty and dear pleasure,
Sure I shall sing thee as m y first delight,
Nurse of my soul, companion of my leisure!
And if in aftertime thy waters roll
More worthily,more spiritually bright,
It will be sunshine to my perfect soul.