 | Poems |  |
47
THE OLD BRIDGE.
I
Oft, when a boy, I wandered forth alone,By a broad river far from any town,
And on a bank with willows overgrown,
In that still solitude would lie me down;
The tide left a long landmark brown and clear,
And, save a lonely heron, no living thing was near.
II
'Twas a wild spot; for there, old legends say,In ancient days a rude stone bridge had stood,
And that two thousand years had passed away
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And there, they say, the Roman troops passed o'er,
And drove the ancient Britons from the opposing shore.
III
And huge gigantic blocks, all quaintly wrought,When the tide ebbs, are seen to lie around;
And battle-weapons rude, with which they fought,
In the deep river-bed are often found;
Bucklers, and bows, and clubs, and dead men's bones,
Lie heaped as in a grave beneath those mighty stones.
IV
And I have lain upon that ancient bank,While deeds of other days rose on my eye;
The curlew screamed above the willows dank,
Roused by the Roman cohorts that swept by,
And gilded galleys through the white waves tore,
Their purple sails outspread, the Imperial Cæsar bore.
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V
Then that old bridge heaved up before my sight,The architecture rude which it displayed;
Such weapons as were used in savage fight,
And just such wolves as in old forests strayed;
While, o'er each arch, fixed with a stony frown,
Three bearded Druids' heads ever looked grimly down.
VI
And o'er it, hurrying legions burst away,Their warlike music rising on the breeze,
Till all was lost, saving the gusty sway
Of some broad banner swelling 'mid the trees,
Or sun-bright Roman eagle, half-concealed,
Passing a British town, then, by the wood concealed.
VII
Where the wild forest stretched along the hill,Above the bank scooped into sandy caves,
Stood the old Druids, and with voices shrill,
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And as their long white beards streamed in the blast,
On the dark oaken groves their eyes were ever cast.
VIII
In the green vale, naked and undismayed,Ready for fight, the stalwart Britons stood,
With bow, and club, and flinty spear arrayed,
Their scythe-wheeled chariots stretched along a wood:
Before them a rude Druid's altar rose,
Its grey and stony front facing the armèd foes.
IX
And on that fight looked anxious eyes of love,Peeping in fear the forest-trees between;
Wild, though they were, as untamed woodland dove,
Still there was grace and beauty in their mien;
And as the battle closed, they shrieked and sighed,
Or sent their heathen prayers across that river wide.
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X
It might be all a dream; but oh! to meSuch fancies brought a melancholy joy;
And still that river flows on murmuringly,
Clear as it did when I sat there a boy;
And those grey stones and willows are the same
As when I dreamèd there, nor knew such dreams were Fame.
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