« AnkstesnisTęsti »
WRITTEN NEAR RICHMOND, UPON THE THAMES,
How rich the wave, in front, imprest
With evening-twilight's summer hues,
While, facing thus the crimson west,
The boat her silent path pursues !
And see how dark the backward stream!
A little moment past, so smiling!
And still, perhaps, with faithless gleam,
Some other loiterer beguiling-
Such views the youthful bard allure,
But, heedless of the following gloom,
He deems their colours shall endure
'Till peace go with him to the tomb.
And let him nurse his fond deceit,
And what if he must die in sorrow!
Who would not cherish dreams so sweet,
Though grief and pain may come to-morrow?
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;
Thy quiet soul on all bestowing,
'Till all our minds for ever flow,
As thy deep waters now are flowing.
Vain thought! yet be as now thou art,
That in thy waters may be seen
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,
Could find no refuge from distress,
But in the milder grief of pity.
Remembrance ! as we glide along,
For him suspend the dashing oar,
And pray that never child of Song
May know his freezing sorrows more.
How calm! how still! the only sound,
The dripping of the oar suspended!
—The evening darkness gathers round
By virtue's holiest powers attended.
" 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
you; “ As if you were her first-born birth, “ And none had lived before you !"
One morning thus, by Esthwaite lake,
When life was sweet I knew not why,
To me my good friend Matthew spake,
And thus I made reply.
it cannot chuse but see, We cannot bid the ear be still; “ Our bodies feel, where'er they be,
Against, or with our will.
" Nor less I deem that there are powers,
o Which of themselves our minds impress,
“ That we can feed this mind of ours,
"In a wise passiveness.