Richard

Beneath the wattled bank the eddies swarm In wandering dimples o’er the shady pool: The same their chase as when I was at school; The same the music, where in shallows warm The current, sunder’d by the bushy isles, Returns to join the main, and struggles free Above the willows, gurgling thro’ the piles: Nothing is changed, and yet how changed are we! —What can bring Godfrey to the Muses’ bower?