F by thy banks, O gently winding stream, And rustling sedge, and fields with king cups gay, On thy green verge, mild flood, and waters be! Taste the same sweets from cloudless youth's increase, J. F. HOLLINGS. 54 THE WAIL OF THE RIVER. THE WAIL OF THE RIVER. HAT saith the river to the rushes grey, Cast Rushes sadly bending, River slowly wending? Who can tell the whispered things they say? Youth, and time, and manhood's prime, your withered garlands in the stream; Low autumnal branches, Round the skiff that launches, Wavering downward through the lands of dream, Ever, ever fled away! This the burden, this the theme. What saith the river to the rushes grey, Rushes sadly bending, River slowly wending? It is near the closing of the day. Near the night. Life and light For ever, ever fled away! Draw him tideward down; but not in haste. Mouldering daylight lingers; Night, with her cold fingers, Sprinkles moonbeams on the dim sea-waste. Ever, ever fled away! Vainly cherished! vainly chased! A RIVER IN FLOOD. What saith the river to the rushes grey, Rushes sadly bending, River slowly wending, Where in darkest glooms his bed we lay? Up the cave moans the wave, For ever, ever fled away! WILLIAM ALLINGHAM. A RIVER IN FLOOD. N their wild route from the mountains, And the pent squall howls and raves ; Where the fanged ravines are wrangling With the furious torrent's force, Till, like foaming serpents tangling, They twist downward in their course. Swallowing up the gorse in throatfuls, Where the gold-gnome sows his mines. Ho! the headlong floods are coming, Like to armied monsters free, With their broken chains all foam-flecked, As they rage on to the sea. There, there where the land would lock them In a foeman's strong embrace; 55 56 A RIVER IN FLOOD. Hark! how they roar with vengeance! And the marsh-bird tips the torrent, Hums his hoarse, deep-chested song. Vainly does the pale moon woo him, And the clustering stars of night; Heeds he naught the peerless lady, Nor her sweet nymphs, fair and bright. And he hates the doting willows, As they fawn down at his feet, For the flood is a barbarian— Tawny, bearded, rude, and bold, A RIVER IN FLOOD. With a brawn as dark as iron, And a heart as hard and cold; And he carries sword and cestus, And, with body stark and bare, Ever gasping, calleth earthward, For a foe to do or dare. And he dashes his huge form Against bend, and bank, and keep; And he loves to meet a barricade And to clear it at a leap! Or to sweep it with a cannonade, To charge it fiercely home! Then, on again, all mane-tossed, Like a trembling dell-wind, cries. And he yields his refted plunder, And he cowers beneath the tide ; He guides the foot that tramps him, 57 |