The writings of John Greenleaf Whittier, Volume 1.
John Greenleaf Whittier, Ed.

It rolled down the rugged hillside,
     It spun like a wheel bewitched,
It plunged through the leaning willows,
     And into the river pitched.

There, in the deep, dark water,
     The magic stone lies still,
Under the leaning willows
     In the shadow of the hill,

But oft the idle fisher
     Sits on the shadowy bank,
And his dreams make marvellous pictures
     Where the wizard's lapstone sank.

And still, in the summer twilights,
     When the river seems to run
Out from the inner glory,
     Warm with the melted sun,

The weary mill-girl lingers
     Beside the charmed stream,
And the sky and the golden water
     Shape and color her dream.

Fair wave the sunset gardens,
     The rosy signals fly;
Her homestead beckons from the cloud,
     And love goes sailing by.

1861.