THE RIVER, A SONG.

1 Oh tell me pretty river, Whence do thy waters flow? And whither art thou roam-ing, So pensive and so slow? 2 “My birthplace was the mountain, My nurse the April showers; My cradle was the fountain O’er-curtained by wild flowers. 3 “One morn I ran away, A madcap hoyden rill— And many a prank that day I played adown the hill. 4 “And then mid meadowy banks I flirted with the flowers, That stooped with glowing lips, To woo me to their bowers. 5 “But these bright scenes are o’er, And darkly flows my wave— I hear the ocean’s roar, And there must be my grave.”