Slowly thy flowing tide |
Came in, old Avon! scarcely did mine
eyes, |
As watchfully I roam’d thy green-wood
side, |
Perceive its gentle rise.
|
With many a stroke and strong |
The labouring boatmen upward plied
their oars, |
Yet little way they made, though
labouring long |
Between they winding shores.
|
Now down thine ebbing tide |
The unlabour’d boat falls rapidly
along; |
The solitary helm’s-man sits to guide, |
And sings an idle song.
|
Now o’er the rocks that lay |
So silent late, the shallow current
roars; |
Fast flow thy waters on their seaward
way |
Through wider-spreading shores.
|
Avon! I gaze and know |
The lesson emblem’d in thy varying way; |
It speaks of human joys that rise so
slow, |
So rapidly decay.
|
Kingdoms which long have stood, |
And slow to strength and power attain’d
at last, |
Thus from the summit of high fortune’s
flood |
They ebb to ruin fast.
|
Thus like thy flow appears |
Time’s tardy course to manhood’s envied
stage; |
Alas! How hurryingly the ebbing years |
Then hasten to old age! |
Westbury, 1799.
|
Robert
Southey |
Classic Poems |
|
[ The Battle of Bleinheim ] [ Gooseberry-Pie ] [ The Old Man's Comforts ] [ The Ebb Tide ] [ The Inchcape Rock ] |