| 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.
|
