l28 A Bridge To The Past

WILMOT VALLEY

There is a stream whose banks 1 trod In days when these untravelled feet, Had scarcely learned to press the sod, Which since they often leaped to meet Nor felt that now far flying back My thoughts would trace their careless track.

The river winds its sinuous way Among the reeds and rushes tall,

Each graceful bend and tiny bay Discloses beauty over all,

Which 0ft some fresh uniting rill, The swelling vale may fuller fill.

Between the banks of wold and lea

And grain crowned ridges sloping down, The tide runs to and from the sea

Along the bay and by the town, It bore me outward in its track

Shall it returning bring me back?

Fair Wilmot years have o‘er me passed Since first I sported in thy wave,

And but their recollections last Yet still the banks thy waters lave,

As freshly as when childhoods ear First knew their mellow murmur near.

And change has wrought its fell decree

And mates from youth to manhood grown, Are scattered some afar like me

And some beneath the churchyard stone, And some the old scenes dwell among But only thou art ever young.

My feet have trodden many fields And scenes as fair I’ve gazed upon, But none so sweet a guerdon yields Of memories of the days agone, Of boys and girls who played with me When life was joy and fancy free.