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<h3>THE RIVER WAINSBECK.</h3>
<h1>by WILLIAM LISLE BOWLES</h1>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">While slowly wanders thy sequestered stream,<br/></span>
<span class="i2"><span class="smcap">Wainsbeck</span>, the mossy-scattered rocks among,<br/></span>
<span class="i2">In fancy's ear making a plaintive song<br/></span>
<span class="i0">To the dark woods above, that waving seem<br/></span>
<span class="i0">To bend o'er some enchanted spot, removed<br/></span>
<span class="i2">From life's vain coil; I listen to the wind,<br/></span>
<span class="i2">And think I hear meek Sorrow's plaint, reclined<br/></span>
<span class="i0">O'er the forsaken tomb of him she loved!—<span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</SPAN></span><br/></span>
<span class="i0">Fair scenes, ye lend a pleasure, long unknown,<br/></span>
<span class="i2">To him who passes weary on his way;—<br/></span>
<span class="i2">Yet recreated here he may delay<br/></span>
<span class="i0">A while to thank you; and when years have flown,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And haunts that charmed his youth he would renew,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">In the world's crowd he will remember you.<br/></span></div>
</div>
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