Metrical Tales and Other Poems/The Ebb Tide
The EBB TIDE.
Slowly thy flowing tideCame in, old Avon! scarcely did mine eyes,As watchfully I roam'd thy green-wood side,Behold the gentle rise.
With many a stroke and strongThe labouring boatmen upward plied their oars,And yet the eye beheld them labouring longBetween thy winding shores.
Now down thine ebbing tideThe unlaboured boat falls rapidly along;The solitary helms-man sits to guideAnd sings an idle song.
Now o'er the rocks, that laySo silent late, the shallow current roars;Fast flow thy waters on their sea-ward wayThro' wider-spreading shores.
Avon! I gaze and knowThe wisdom emblemed in thy varying way;It speaks of human joys that rise so slow,So rapidly decay.
Kingdoms that long have stoodAnd slow to strength and power attain'd at last,Thus from the summit of high fortune's floodEbb to their ruin fast.
So tardily appearsThe course of time to manhood's envied stage;Alas! how hurryingly the ebbing yearsThen hasten to old age!