Classic Poem

I.

I SIT by the river and weep a farewell;
My musings have turned to regrets,
While I gaze on the tranquil stream leaving the dell
And the fisherman shooting his nets.

II.

Then rush to the memory summers of joy,
And the shadowy sands of the past
Discover the wandering tracks of the boy
Uninjured by billow or blast.

III.

Ah! each feat and each frolic, the pastimes of old,
They seem as if left for me yet,
While afar on the indolent pool I behold
The fisherman shooting his net.

IV.

But see! 'tis the silvery salmon that springs
In mockery under the shade,
Below me the dark trout is rearing its rings,
Unfettered and unafraid.

V.

Why grasp at the wand? what matters it now
That they range unalarmed to my feet?
And alway, as the summer fly drops from the bough,
Their wandering circles repeat?

VI.

Despoiled of the sorrowless scenes of my youth,
I may toil my past loves to forget,
But Mem'ry will keep, 'mid her portraits of truth,
The fisherman shooting his net.