« AnkstesnisTęsti »
WRITTEN NEAR RICHMOND, UPON THE THAMES,
How rich the wave, in front, imprest
The boat her silent path pursues!
And see how dark the backward stream!
And still, perhaps, with faithless gleam,
Such views the youthful bard allure,
Who would not cherish dreams so sweet,
Glide gently, thus for ever glide,
O Thames! that other bards may see,
As lovely visions by thy side
As now, fair river! come to me.
Oh glide, fair stream! for ever so;
'Till all our minds for ever flow,
As thy deep waters now are flowing.
Vain thought! yet be as now thou art,
The image of a poet's heart,
How bright, how solemn, how serene!
Such heart did once the poet bless,
Who, pouring here a * later ditty,
Remembrance! as we glide along,
By virtue's holiest powers
*Collins's Ode on the death of Thomson, the laft written, I believe, of the poems which were published during his life-time. This Ode is also alluded to in the next stanza,
"Why William, on that old grey stone, "Thus for the length of half a day,
Why William, sit you thus alone,
"And dream your time away?
"Where are your books? that light bequeath'd
"To beings else forlorn and blind!
"Up! Up! and drink the spirit breath'd
From dead men to their kind.
"You look round on your mother earth,
"As if she for no purpose bore you; "As if you were her first-born birth, "And none had lived before you!"
One morning thus, by Esthwaite lake,
"The eye it cannot chuse but see, "We cannot bid the ear be still;
"Our bodies feel, where'er they be,
"Nor less I deem that there are powers,
"Which of themselves our minds impress,
"That we can feed this mind of ours,
"In a wise passiveness.