The Brook of Hatsúse
Pure is Hatsúse mountain-brook—
So pure it mirrors all the clouds of heaven;
Yet here no fishermen for shelter look
When sailing home at even:—
’Tis that there are no sandy reaches,
Nor sheltering beaches,
Where the frail craft might find some shelt’ring nook.
Ah, well-a-day! we have no sandy reaches:—
But heed that not;
Nor shelving beaches:—
But heed that not!
Come a-jostling and a-hustling
O’er our billows gayly bustling:—
Come, all ye boats, and anchor in this spot!
Anon.