Still in the river see the shallop floats. Hark! Chimes the falling oar. Still in the mind Hark to the song of the past! Dream, and they pass in their dreams. Those that loved of yore, O those that loved of yore! Hark through the stillness, O darling, hark! Through it all the ear of the mind Knows the boat of love. Hark! Chimes the falling oar. O half in vain they grew old. Now the halcyon days are over, Age and winter close us slowly round, And these sounds at fall of even Dim the sight and muffle all the sound. And at the married fireside, sleep of soul and sleep of fancy, Joan and Darby. Silence of the world without a sound; And beside the winter faggot Joan and Darby sit and dose and dream and wake— Dream they hear the flowing, singing river, See the berries in the island brake; Dream they hear the weir, See the gliding shallop mar the stream. Hark! in your dreams do you hear? Snow has filled the drifted forest; Ice has bound the . . . stream. Frost has bound our flowing river; Snow has whitened all our island brake. Berried brake and reedy island, Heaven below and only heaven above azure Through the sky’s inverted image Safely swam the boat that bore our love. Dear were your eyes as the day, Bright ran the stream, bright hung the sky above. Days of April, airs of Eden. How the glory died through golden hours, And the shining moon arising, How the boat drew homeward filled with flowers. Bright were your eyes in the night: We have lived, my love; O, we have loved, my love. Now the . . . days are over, Age and winter close us slowly round. Vainly time departs, and vainly Age and winter come and close us round. Hark the river’s long continuous sound. Hear the river ripples in the reeds. Lo, in dreams they see their shallop Run the lilies down and drown the weeds Mid the sound of crackling faggots. So in dreams the new created Happy past returns, to-day recedes, And they hear once more, From the old years, Yesterday returns, to-day recedes, And they hear with aged hearing warbles Love’s own river ripple in the weeds. And again the lover’s shallop; Lo, the shallop sheds the streaming weeds; And afar in foreign countries In the ears of aged lovers. And again in winter evens Starred with lilies . . . with stirring weeds. In these ears of aged lovers Love’s own river ripples in the reeds. EPITAPHIUM EROTII HERE lies Erotion, whom at six years old Fate pilfered. Stranger (when I too am cold, Who shall succeed me in my rural field), To this small spirit annual honours yield! Bright be thy hearth, hale be thy babes, I crave And this, in thy green farm, the only grave. DE M. ANTONIO