The poem
AS slowly wanders thy forsaken stream, Wenbeck! the mossy-scatter'd rocks among, In fancy's ear still making plaintive song To the dark woods above: ah! sure I seem To meet some friendly Genius in the gloom, And in each breeze a pitying voice I hear Like sorrow's sighs upon misfortune's tomb. Ah! soothing are your quiet scenes -- the tear Of him who passes weary on his way Shall thank you, as he turns to bid adieu: Onward a cheerless pilgrim he may stray, Yet oft as musing memory shall review The scenes that cheer'd his path with fairer ray, Delightful haunts, he will remember you.