And filled the air with barbarous dissonance.

And filled the air with barbarous dissonance.

The streams, rejoiced that winter's work is done,
Talk of to-morrow's cowslips as they run.
- read more

The streams, rejoiced that winter's work is done,
Talk of to-morrow's cowslips as they run.
- Ebenezer Elliott ("The Corn Law Rhymer"),

Brook! whose society the poet seeks,
Intent his wasted spirits to renew;
And whom the curious painter read more

Brook! whose society the poet seeks,
Intent his wasted spirits to renew;
And whom the curious painter doth pursue
Through rocky passes, among flowery creeks,
And tracks thee dancing down thy water-breaks.

The more thou dam'st it up, the more it burns.
The current that with gentle murmur glides,
read more

The more thou dam'st it up, the more it burns.
The current that with gentle murmur glides,
Thou know'st, being stopped, impatiently doth rage;
But when his fair course is not hindered,
He makes sweet music with th' enameled stones,
Giving a gentle kiss to every sedge,
He overtaketh in his pilgrimage.
And so by many winding nooks he strays
With willing sport to the wild ocean.
Then let me go and hinder not my course.
I'll be as patient as a gentle stream
And make a pastime of each weary step,
Till the last step have brought me to my love;
And there I'll rest, as after much turmoil
A blessed soul doth in Elysium.

Their rising all at once was as the sound
Of thunder heard remote.

Their rising all at once was as the sound
Of thunder heard remote.

A thousand trills and quivering sounds
In airy circles o'er us fly,
Till, wafted by a gentle read more

A thousand trills and quivering sounds
In airy circles o'er us fly,
Till, wafted by a gentle breeze,
They faint and languish by degrees,
And at a distance die.

I wandered by the brook-side,
I wandered by the mill;
I could not hear the brook flow,
read more

I wandered by the brook-side,
I wandered by the mill;
I could not hear the brook flow,
The noisy wheel was still.

What's the business,
That such a hideous trumpet calls to parley
The sleepers of the house? Speak, read more

What's the business,
That such a hideous trumpet calls to parley
The sleepers of the house? Speak, speak!

Sweet are the little brooks that run
O'er pebbles glancing in the sun,
Singing in soothing tones.

Sweet are the little brooks that run
O'er pebbles glancing in the sun,
Singing in soothing tones.