The Brook (excerpt)

'O babbling brook,' says Edmund in his rhyme,
'Whence come you?' and the brook, why not? replies.    I come from haunts of coot and hern,
    I make a sudden sally,
    And sparkle out among the fern,
    To bicker down a valley.    By thirty hills I hurry down,
    Or slip between the ridges,
    By twenty thorps, a little town,
    And half a hundred bridges.    Till last by Philip's farm I flow
    To join the brimming river,
    For men may come and men may go,
    But I go on for ever.'Poor lad, he died at Florence, quite worn out,
Travelling to Naples. There is Darnley bridge,
It has more ivy; there the river; and there
Stands Philip's farm where brook and river meet.    I chatter over stony ways,
    In little sharps and trebles,
    I bubble into eddying bays,
    I babble on the pebbles.    With many a curve my banks I fret
    By many a field and fallow,
    And many a fairy foreland set
    With willow-**** and mallow.    I chatter, chatter, as I flow
    To join the brimming river,
    For men may come and men may go,
    But I go on for ever.'But Philip chatter'd more than brook or bird;
Old Philip; all about the fields you caught
His weary daylong chirping, like the dry
High-elbow'd grigs that leap in summer grass. [grig = cricket - m.]    I wind about, and in and out,
    With here a blossom sailing,
    And here and there a ***** trout,
    And here and there a grayling,    And here and there a foamy flake
    Upon me, as I travel
    With many a silvery waterbreak
    Above the golden gravel,    And draw them all along, and flow
    To join the brimming river,
    For men may come and men may go,
    But I go on for ever.