Lines at the River Side

'Tis but a work of the loom, 'Tis but a shawl on the grass, 'Tis but a remnant, alas! Remnant of what and of whom?

Surely some victim of woe Left it to bleach on the brink, Left it to plunge and to sink Under the waters below.

Doubt, hesitation and fear, Madness, delusion, despair, All of them culminate there, There by the swift rushing weir.

Was it a husband she fled, Drunken, of reason bereft? Was it a child that she left Peaceful and pale in its bed?

Rash was the folly, I trow, Vice got the best of the strife. One little moment of life! What would she give for it now?

Ha! what has shattered it all? How is my muse disarray'd? Only a nursery maid Come back to look for her shawl.

Out of School at Eton.