On thy wild banks, by frequent torrents worn, No glittering fanes, or marble domes appear, Yet shall the mournful Muse thy course adorn, And still to her thy rustic waves be dear. For with the infant Otway, lingering here, Of early woes she bade her votary dream, While thy low murmurs sooth'd his pensive ear, And still the poet -- consecrates the stream. Beneath the oak and birch that fringe thy side, The first-born violets of the year shall spring; And in thy hazles, bending o'er the tide, The earliest nightingale delight to sing: While kindred spirits, pitying, shall relate Thy Otway's sorrows, and lament his fate! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE CRYSTAL CABINET by WILLIAM BLAKE THE RAVEN; A CHRISTMAS TALE, TOLD BY A SCHOOL-BOY by SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE BUNCHES OF GRAPES by WALTER JOHN DE LA MARE A SONNET, TO THE NOBLE LADY, THE LADY MARY WROTH by BEN JONSON OMNES EODEM COGIMUR by AMMIANUS PEARLS OF THE FAITH: 12. THE CREATOR by EDWIN ARNOLD |