 | The Poetical Works of Caroline Bowles Southey |  |
The stream, the mead, herb, insect, flower, and leaf,
Sunbeam and shadow, all, as I have said,
Were books to me, companionable things;
But lack of other volume, Man's device,
Was none, when, turning from the outspread scroll
Of beauteous Nature, sweet repose I sought
In varied pleasure. In a certain pouch,
Ample and deep, the Fisher's coat within,
Lurked an old clumsy russet-covered book,
That with permitted hand extracted thence—
(I see the smile to the young smiling thief
Vouching impunity)—for many an hour
Furnished enjoyment, flavoured not the less
For oft renewed experience intimate.
Just where the river with a graceful curve
Darkened and deepened in the leafy gloom
Of a huge pollard oak, a snug retreat
I found me at the foot of that old tree,
Within the grotto-work of its vast roots,
From whose fantastic arches, high upheaved,
Sprang plumy clusters of the jewelled fern,
And adder's-tongue, and ivy wreaths hung down
Festooning elegant, soft greenest moss
Flooring the fairy cave, the tempered light,
As through an emerald roof, stole gently in,
Caressingly, and played in freckling gleams
On the dark surface of the little pool,
Where as it seemed the lingering stream delayed
As loath its brawling course to recommence
In glaring sunshine. Ah! could we delay
Time's current, as it bears us through some reach
Where the rough stream sinks waveless, peace-embayed!
Sunbeam and shadow, all, as I have said,
Were books to me, companionable things;
But lack of other volume, Man's device,
Was none, when, turning from the outspread scroll
Of beauteous Nature, sweet repose I sought
In varied pleasure. In a certain pouch,
Ample and deep, the Fisher's coat within,
Lurked an old clumsy russet-covered book,
That with permitted hand extracted thence—
(I see the smile to the young smiling thief
Vouching impunity)—for many an hour
Furnished enjoyment, flavoured not the less
For oft renewed experience intimate.
Just where the river with a graceful curve
Darkened and deepened in the leafy gloom
71
I found me at the foot of that old tree,
Within the grotto-work of its vast roots,
From whose fantastic arches, high upheaved,
Sprang plumy clusters of the jewelled fern,
And adder's-tongue, and ivy wreaths hung down
Festooning elegant, soft greenest moss
Flooring the fairy cave, the tempered light,
As through an emerald roof, stole gently in,
Caressingly, and played in freckling gleams
On the dark surface of the little pool,
Where as it seemed the lingering stream delayed
As loath its brawling course to recommence
In glaring sunshine. Ah! could we delay
Time's current, as it bears us through some reach
Where the rough stream sinks waveless, peace-embayed!
| The Poetical Works of Caroline Bowles Southey | |