To the River Cherwell

[ZaunköniG]

Cherwell, how pleased along thy willowed edge
Erewhile I strayed, or when the morn began
To tinge the distant turret's gleamy fan,
Or evening glimmered o'er the sighing sedge!

And now reposed on thy lorn banks once more,
I bid the pipe farewell, and that sad lay
Whose music on my melancholy way
I wooed, amid thy waving willows hoar,

Seeking awhle to rest - till the bright sun
Of joy returns, as when Heaven's beauteous bow
Beams on the night-storm's passing wings below. -

Whate'er betide, yet something have I won
Of solace, that may bear me on serene,
'Till eve's last hush shall close the silent scene.