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.