’TWAS yesterday; ’twas long ago: And for this flaunting grimy street, And for this crowding to and fro, And thud and roar of wheels and feet, Were elm-trees and the linnet’s trill, The little gurgles of the rill, And breath of meadow flowers that blow Ere roses make the summer sweet. ’Twas long ago; ’twas yesterday. Our peach would just be new with leaves, The swallow pair that used to lay Their glimmering eggs beneath our eaves Would flutter busy with their brood, And, haply, in our hazel-wood, Small village urchins hide at play, And girls sit binding bluebell sheaves. Was the house here, or there, or there? No landmark tells. All changed; all lost; As when the waves that fret and tear The fore-shores of some level coast Roll smoothly where the sea-pinks grew. All changed, and all grown old anew; And I pass over, unaware, The memories I am seeking most. But where these huddled house-rows spread, And where this thickened air hangs murk And the dim sun peers round and red On stir and haste and cares and work, For me were baby’s daisy-chains, For me the meetings in the lanes, The shy good-morrows softly said That paid my morning’s lying lurk. Oh lingering days of long ago, Not until now you passed away. Years wane between and we unknow; Our youth is always yesterday. But, like a traveller home who craves For friends and finds forgotten graves, I seek you where you dwelled, and, lo, Even farewells not left to say! RIVER. AN AUTUMN IDYL. “Sweet Thames! ran softly, till I end my song.” SPENSER, _Prothalamion_. LAURENCE. FRANK. JACK. LAURENCE. HERE, where the beech-nuts drop among the grasses, Push the boat in, and throw the rope ashore. Jack, hand me out the claret and the glasses;— Here let us sit. We landed here before. FRANK. Jack’s undecided. Say, _formose puer_, Bent in a dream above the “water wan;” Shall we row higher, for the reeds are fewer, There by the pollards, where you see the swan? JACK. Hist! That’s a pike. Look,—note against the river, Gaunt as a wolf,—the sly old privateer, Enter a gudgeon. Snap,—a gulp, a shiver;— Exit the gudgeon. Let us anchor here. FRANK. (_In the grass_.) Jove, what a day! Black Care upon the crupper Nods at his post, and slumbers in the sun, Half of Theocritus, with a touch of Tupper Churns in my head. The frenzy has begun. LAURENCE. Sing to us then. Damoetas in a choker Much out of tune, will edify the rooks. FRANK. Sing you again. So musical a croaker Surely will draw the fish upon the hooks. JACK.