Classic Poem

Silent I gazed upon our foaming wake,
And silent on the Island hills I gazed,
As up the ebbing stream we bore, to make
Our harbour, while the West athwart us blazed,
Keen were my thoughts: my memory wander'd back
To those fair shores—the Needles and the Downs—
The happy woodlands and the little towns—
For every day a new and pleasant track;
How grieved was I those social walks to lose,
Those friendly hands! The shadow of our mast
And sail ran sadly o'er the fruitless ooze
At sunset, as between the banks we pass'd
Of that tide-fallen river, speeding fast
To land, and further from those fond adieus.