Уильям Лайл Боулз (William Lisle Bowles)

Sonnet 4. To the River Wainsbeck

WHILE slowly wanders thy sequestered stream,
Wainsbeck! the mossy-scattered rocks among,
In fancy’s ear still making plaintive song
To the dark woods above, that waving seem
To bend o’er some enchanted spot; removed
From life’s vain coil, I listen to the wind,
And think I hear meek Sorrow’s plaint, reclined
O’er the forsaken tomb of one she loved!—
Fair scenes! ye lend a pleasure, long unknown,
To him who passes weary on his way—
The farewell tear, which now he turns to pay,
Shall thank you;—and whene’er of pleasures flown
His heart some long-lost image would renew,
Delightful haunts! he will remember you.

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