| |
| A SOURCE of gentle waters, mute and mild, | |
| A few calm reeds around the sedgy brink, | |
| The loneliest bird that flees to waste or wild | |
| Might fold its feathers here in peace to drink. | |
| |
| I do remember me of such a scene, | 5 |
| Far in the depths of memory’s glimmering hour, | |
| When earth looked e’en on me with tranquil mien, | |
| And life gushed, like this fountain in her bower. | |
| |
| But lo! a little on, a gliding stream, | |
| Fed with fresh rills from fields before unknown, | 10 |
| Where the glad roses on its banks may dream | |
| That watery mirror spreads for them alone. | |
| |
| Ah, woe is me! that flood, those flowers, recall | |
| A gleaming glimpse of Time’s departed shore, | |
| Where now no dews descend, no sunbeams fall, | 15 |
| And leaf and blossom burst no more, no more! | |
| |
| See now! with heart more stern, and statelier force, | |
| Through Tidna’s vale the river leaps along; | |
| The strength of many trees shall guard its course, | |
| Birds in the branches soothe it with their song. | 20 |
| |
| O type of a far scene! the lovely land! | |
| Where youth wins many a friend, and I had one; | |
| Still do thy bulwarks, dear old Oxford, stand? | |
| Yet, Isis, do thy thoughtful waters run? | |
| |
| But hush! a spell is o’er thy conscious wave; | 25 |
| Pause and move onward with obedient tread; | |
| At yonder wheel they bind thee for their slave; | |
| Hireling of man, they use thy toil for bread. | |
| |
| Still is thy stream an image of the days | |
| At duty’s loneliest labor meekly bound; | 30 |
| The foot of joy is hushed, the voice of praise: | |
| We twain have reached the stern and anxious ground. | |
| |
| And now what hills shall smile, what depths remain, | |
| Thou tamed and chastened wanderer, for thee? | |
| A rocky path, a solitary plain, | 35 |
| Must be thy broken channel to the sea. | |
| |
| Come then, sad river, let our footsteps blend | |
| Onward, by silent bank and nameless stone: | |
| Our years began alike, so let them end,— | |
| We live with many men, we die alone. | 40 |
| |
| Why dost thou slowly wind and sadly turn, | |
| As loath to leave e’en this most joyless shore? | |
| Doth thy heart fail thee? do thy waters yearn | |
| For the far fields of memory once more? | |
| |
| Ah me! my soul, and thou art treacherous too, | 45 |
| Linked to this fatal flesh, a fettered thrall | |
| The sin, the sorrow, why wouldst thou renew? | |
| The past, the perished, vain and idle all! | |
| |
| Away! behold at last the torrent leap, | |
| Glad, glad to mingle with yon foamy brine; | 50 |
| Free and unmourned, the cataract cleaves the steep,— | |
| O river of the rocks, thy fate is mine! | |
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