Sonnet Xvii Poem by Robert Anderson

TO THE RIVER CALDEW.

Tho' down thy silv'ry current, winding stream,
Proud Commerce ne'er doth bend the swelling sail;
Tho' seldom thou hast been the poet's theme;
Yet canst thou boast of many a bowery vale,
The wood umbrageous and the flow'r--wov'n glade,
Where Health's pure breeze steals on each fragrant gale;
And near thy banks the artless village maid
Blooms fair as those by Yarrow, Tay, or Tweed:
Nor sings the linnet sweeter in the shade
Where Twick'nham's minstrel tun'd his rapt'rous reed.
O were the art of poesy but mine,
Known to the bard who trod thy willowy shore,
Then should'st thou flow in many a polish'd line;--
But dull the lay whose author knows no classic lore!