Classic Poem

I TCHIN , as erst, while sober Ev'ning low'rs,
I walk romantic o'er thy flow'ry side;
And pensive now I mark thy silver tide,
And now 'mid stately elms the moss-grown tow'rs
Where kings repose, and Wykeham's learned bow'rs;
Or that calm mansion, where remote from pride
And Life's sore storms, aetherial Hope his guide,
Old-age reclin'd awaits his parting hours.
And now my ears delighted catch the found
Of those sweet bells, that o'er the bleating vale
Melodious ring from Twyford's rural bound;
Nor yet, lov'd hill, thy wonted pleasures fail:
But I less charm'd explore this happy ground,
In riper years, when other cares prevail.