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William Stanley Braithwaite, ed. The Book of Georgian Verse. 1909.

To the River Lodon

Thomas Warton (1728–1790)

AH! what a weary race my feet have run,

Since first I trod thy banks with alders crown’d,

And thought my way was all through fairy ground,

Beneath thy azure sky, and golden sun:

Where first my Muse to lisp her notes begun!

While pensive Memory traces back the round,

Which fills the varied interval between;

Much pleasure, more of sorrow, marks the scene.

Sweet native stream! those skies and suns so pure

No more return, to cheer my evening road!

Yet still one, joy remains: that nor obscure,

Nor useless, all my vacant days have flow’d,

From youth’s gay dawn to manhood’s prime mature;

Nor with the Muse’s laurel unbestow’d.