 | Poems |  |
82
HARLEY RIVER.
Through the midst of the town the river runs,
Stealing through meadows and pastures green,
Like a gliding snake in the dewy grass,
A moment hid, and a moment seen;
Winding along through clover-fields,
And orchards by hawthorn hedges crossed,
It hurries away with its silver feet,
And at last in the distant sea is lost.
Stealing through meadows and pastures green,
Like a gliding snake in the dewy grass,
A moment hid, and a moment seen;
Winding along through clover-fields,
And orchards by hawthorn hedges crossed,
It hurries away with its silver feet,
And at last in the distant sea is lost.
It lies like a mirror before me now,
Glassing the sky with its clouds of snow;
And long green grasses, and slender reeds,
And bushes, beside the margin grow;
A breath of wind steals over its face,
And ripples a moment the tranquil tide;
And the willows dip, and the long boughs drip,
And circles are spreading on every side.
Glassing the sky with its clouds of snow;
And long green grasses, and slender reeds,
And bushes, beside the margin grow;
A breath of wind steals over its face,
And ripples a moment the tranquil tide;
And the willows dip, and the long boughs drip,
And circles are spreading on every side.
83
Hard by the bridge, and over the dam,
The little Mill standeth, old and gray;
The gates are up, and the water falls,
Making a sleepy noise all day:
The heavy old wheel is turning round,
Grinding the farmers' wheat and corn;
And the chaff floats out, and the yellow meal,
Like golden mist from the fields at morn.
The little Mill standeth, old and gray;
The gates are up, and the water falls,
Making a sleepy noise all day:
The heavy old wheel is turning round,
Grinding the farmers' wheat and corn;
And the chaff floats out, and the yellow meal,
Like golden mist from the fields at morn.
A little way out from the rippled shore,
Where the flags shoot up, and the cresses float,
Water-lilies are pitched, like tents,
Or the folded sails of a fairy boat:
The sand at the bottom is flecked with shells,
Hollow on hollow, and ridge on ridge;
With wavering weeds, and shimmering stones,
And the mossy wrecks of the fallen bridge.
Where the flags shoot up, and the cresses float,
Water-lilies are pitched, like tents,
Or the folded sails of a fairy boat:
The sand at the bottom is flecked with shells,
Hollow on hollow, and ridge on ridge;
With wavering weeds, and shimmering stones,
And the mossy wrecks of the fallen bridge.
Here the boys of the village come and play
Through the spring and summer at leisure hours,
Launching their argosies dug from chips,
Laden with pebbles, and weeds, and flowers;
Wading in for the calamus roots,
And lilies, and shells that pave the sand,
And sailing out upon crazy planks,
Stoned by their shouting mates on land.
Through the spring and summer at leisure hours,
Launching their argosies dug from chips,
Laden with pebbles, and weeds, and flowers;
Wading in for the calamus roots,
And lilies, and shells that pave the sand,
And sailing out upon crazy planks,
Stoned by their shouting mates on land.
84
The simpler, straying with staff and scrip,
Culls his rarest herbs on the brink;
The way-side traveller, dusty and dry,
Stops by the crystal stream to drink;
The angler comes with his bending rod,
And lieth beneath a shady tree,
Feeling his line, from time to time,
A quiet and patient man, perdie!
Culls his rarest herbs on the brink;
The way-side traveller, dusty and dry,
Stops by the crystal stream to drink;
The angler comes with his bending rod,
And lieth beneath a shady tree,
Feeling his line, from time to time,
A quiet and patient man, perdie!
Wagoners, urging their loaded wains
To market, water their horses here;
And the ploughman, driving a-field at morn,
Halts with his yoked and hornèd steer;
Cattle stand in the cooling tide,
In summer noons, by the insects stung;
And the milk-white lambs and the shepherd's dog
Lap the water with panting tongue.
To market, water their horses here;
And the ploughman, driving a-field at morn,
Halts with his yoked and hornèd steer;
Cattle stand in the cooling tide,
In summer noons, by the insects stung;
And the milk-white lambs and the shepherd's dog
Lap the water with panting tongue.
And winters, when ice has fettered the stream,
The lads come hither before the sun,
And skate till they hear the school-bell ring
Its morning knell of frolic and fun;
While the lesser children, muffled up warm,
Drag each other on sleds about,
And slide in a row on the slippery paths,
And fall in heaps with a mighty shout.
The lads come hither before the sun,
And skate till they hear the school-bell ring
Its morning knell of frolic and fun;
While the lesser children, muffled up warm,
Drag each other on sleds about,
And slide in a row on the slippery paths,
And fall in heaps with a mighty shout.
85
When I was a boy with a careless heart,
I played with mine ancient comrades here;
My foot was as light, my voice was as loud,
And my innocent spirit as full of cheer;
But wrinkled and careworn now I stand
By the river's bank with a throb of pain,
And sigh that the days which have passed away,
Like its waters, can never return again.
I played with mine ancient comrades here;
My foot was as light, my voice was as loud,
And my innocent spirit as full of cheer;
But wrinkled and careworn now I stand
By the river's bank with a throb of pain,
And sigh that the days which have passed away,
Like its waters, can never return again.
| Poems | |