For a TABLET on the Banks of a Stream.

  Stranger! awhile upon this mossy bank

  Recline thee. If the Sun rides high, the breeze,

  That loves to ripple o'er the rivulet,

  Will play around thy brow, and the cool sound

  Of running waters soothe thee. Mark how clear

  It sparkles o'er the shallows, and behold

  Where o'er its surface wheels with restless speed

  Yon glossy insect, on the sand below

  How the swift shadow flies. The stream is pure

  In solitude, and many a healthful herb

  Bends o'er its course and drinks the vital wave:

  But passing on amid the haunts of man,

  It finds pollution there, and rolls from thence

  A tainted tide. Seek'st thou for HAPPINESS?

  Go Stranger, sojourn in the woodland cot

  Of INNOCENCE, and thou shalt find her there.