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MARK yon runnel how ’tis flowing, Like a sylvan spirit dreaming Of the Spring-blooms near it blowing And the sunlight in it gleaming! Where that shelving rock is spied, There with a smooth warbling slide It lapses down into a cool And brimming, not o’erflowing pool. Then between its narrow’d banks Playing mellow gurgling pranks, It gushes till a channel’d stone Gives it a more strenuous tone; Or with an under-swirling spread Over a wide pebbled bed It bubbles with a gentle pleasure, Ere some new mood change the measure: Such a runnel typeth well The sweet wild verse of ‘Christabel;’ But what The Wonder-World it warbles through? |