Уильям Лайл Боулз (William Lisle Bowles)

To the River Cherwell, Oxford

CHERWELL! how pleased along thy willowed hedge
Erewhile I strayed, or when the morn began
To tinge the distant turret’s gleamy fan,
Or evening glimmered o’er the sighing sedge!
And now reposing on thy banks once more,
I bid the pipe farewell, and that sad lay
Whose music on my melancholy way
I wooed: amid thy waving willows hoar
Seeking awhile to rest,—till the bright sun
Of joy return, as when Heaven’s beauteous bow
Beams on the night-storm’s passing wings below:
Whate’er betide, yet something have I won
Of solace, that may bear me on serene,
Till Eve’s last hush shall close the silent scene.

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