RECOLLECTIONS,

ON THE BANKS OF THE THAMES.

ONCE more I feel thy gale upon my cheek
Oh Thames!-a little moment let me rest
Here, on this grassy bank; beneath these elms
Whose high boughs murmur with the leafy sound
That soothed me when a boy: when, truant-like,
Of the dull chime that summon'd me afar

Nought heeding, by the river-wave I lay
Enamour'd of the liberty of thought.

As yon grey turrets rest in trembling shade
On thy transparent breadth, the years long past
Rise with that same distinctness; when averse
From sport I wander'd on thy loneliest banks,
Where not a sound disturb'd the quiet noon,
But such as fitly blends with silentness;

E

The whispering sedge, the grasshopper's faint chirp, Or cuckoo's cry and not a human trace,

Unless some hamlet's spire o'ertopp'd the wood,

Spake to the sight of earth's inhabiters..

Thus wearing out the solitary hours

In happy day-dreams: visions that are gone
With the light bubbles eddying in thy stream.
But heavier loss has chanced: a solitude

Is in thy waters swept by gliding oars

And peopled by the wheeling insect tribes

That sip thy whirlpool surface: in thy leaves
Hush'd sounds, that breathe a void into the heart:
And through thy branching allies and tower'd meads
Wanders the ghost of manhood's buried hope.
For they have stood beside me on thy banks
Who gave prolong'd existence, and with me
Trod every verdant nook I wont to tread,

When like their own my careless locks flow'd free

On the clear forehead: they have stood with me

Whose recollected presence blots the heaven

Glass'd in thy azured wave: their way has lain
By other waters: their delighted eyes

Shall trace thy smooth meandering flight no more.
Oh thou fair river! flowing calm and full
Midst thy green islets, while the poised swan broods
O'er his clear shadow in thy crystal depth,

The form that lingers on thy banks is changed:
Thou rollest onward still thy placid tide:

Thou wearst no semblance of the human brow:
Thou art the same: unchangeable, serene,
Majestic in the beauty of thy strength:
Impassive to the stroke that levels minds;

The change that mars the destiny of man.

SCENES REVISITED.

STRETCH'D on the dizzy crag I mark
Beneath me float the heaving surge,
That tossing onward, blue and dark,
With flash of foam o'erleaps the verge:

Or from some shore-cliff's weedy cave
Watch the shrill cormorant screaming sail;

Or catch by glimpse the azure wave

From the wood-vista of the vale.

Thy craggy coves oh Ilfracombe !

The outline of thy ridgy hills,

Thy ash-tree dell's sun-quivering gloom,

And pebbled dash of viewless rills;

That inland glade, that gleamy shore,

Are now as they have ever been;

Why do I feel their joy no more?

Whence is the void that aches within?

Two blooming forms to memory rise,

And up the grassy dale-path glide;

And glancing drops bedim mine eyes
To see them lingering at my side.
Still evening shoots its yellow gleam-
Soft voices thrill the murmuring air-
'Tis gone!-a shade-a hovering dream-

The spell is broke that bound me there!