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I. ’T IS evening! With a mind to which the shade | |
| Somewhat of its own sombre hues hath lent, | |
| On the old terrace-wall far forward bent, | |
| I watch, while slowly the last sunbeams fade | |
| Behind the trees of Christ-Church’ lengthened glade, | 5 |
| Cherwell, thy tributary waters glide | |
| Onward to Isis’ breast, a silver tide, | |
| Winding, mid willow-drooping banks embayed; | |
| Yes! typical thine unambitious flow, | |
| Of those brief years to lone seclusion given, | 10 |
| When studious days in modest current go, | |
| Noiseless, unruffled, swift, unsullied, even, | |
| Unrippled, foamless, eddyless, till hurled | |
| Into the larger waters of the world! | |
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II. ARISTOCRATIC stream! Thou who dost brook | 15 |
| No trade upon thy waters! never soil | |
| Thy purity the barge and sons of toil! | |
| For gentle lovers only dost thou look: | |
| Ne’er hast thou been, ne’er shalt thou be, forsook | |
| By Youth and Pleasure, who with dripping oar | 20 |
| Through the green meadows on thy banks explore | |
| Each azure bend, and lily-bearing nook; | |
| The pool by bathers sought, glassy and still: | |
| The shady reach where the dark willows bend: | |
| Thine angler-haunted current by the mill:— | 25 |
| Beautiful river! why should I rehearse | |
| Faintly thy charms, when he who was my friend | |
| Hath given thee sweeter and more burning verse? | |
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