BY THE REV. NEWTON OGLE, DEAN OF MANCHESTER. <br /> <br />Oh thou, that prattling on thy pebbled way <br />Through my paternal vale dost stray, <br />Working thy shallow passage to the sea! <br />Oh, stream, thou speedest on <br />The same as many seasons gone; <br />But not, alas, to me <br />Remain the feelings that beguiled <br />My early road, when, careless and content, <br />(Losing the hours in pastimes innocent) <br />Upon thy banks I strayed a playful child; <br />Whether the pebbles that thy margin strew, <br />Collecting, heedlessly I threw; <br />Or loved in thy translucent wave <br />My tender shrinking feet to lave; <br />Or else ensnared your little fry, <br />And thought how wondrous skilled was I! <br />So passed my boyish days, unknown to pain, <br />Days that will ne'er return again. <br />It seems but yesterday <br />I was a child, to-morrow to be gray! <br />So years succeeding years steal silently away. <br />Not fleeter thy own current, hurrying thee, <br />Rolls down to the great sea. <br />Thither oh carry these sad thoughts; the deep <br />Bury them!--thou, meantime, thy tenor keep, <br />And winding through the green-wood, cheer, <br />As erst, my native, peaceful pastures here.<br /><br />William Lisle Bowles<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/translation-of-a-latin-poem/
