Thy banks' purest stream shall be dear to me ever.
* * * * * *
In those fair fields where sacred Isis glides,
Or else where Cam his winding vales divides?
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By Clyde's meandering stream,
When Sol in joy is seen to leave
The earth with crimson beam;
When islands that wandered far
Above his sea couch lie,
And here and there some gem-like star
Re-opes its sparkling eye.
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And love Earth only for its earthly sake?
By the blue rushing of the arrowy Rhone
Or the pure bosom of its nursing lake.
