Classic Poem

No stately villas, on thy side,
May be reflected in thy tide;
No lawn-like parks, outstretching round,
The willing loiterer's footsteps bound
By woods, that cast their leafy shade,
Or deer that start across the glade;
No ruin'd abbey, grey with years,
Upon thy marge its pile uprears;
Nor crumbling castle, valour's hold,
Recalls the feudal days of old.

Nor dost thou need that such should be,
To make thee, Deben, dear to me
Thou hast thy own befitting charms,
Of quiet heath and fertile farms,
With here and there a copse to fling
Its welcome shade, where wild birds sing;
Thy meads, for flocks and herds to graze;
Thy quays and docks, where seamen raise
Their anchor, and unfurl their sail
To woo and win the favouring gale.
And, above all, for me thou hast
Endearing memories of the past!
Thy winding banks, with grass o'ergrown,
By me these forty years well known,
Where, eve or morn, 'tis sweet to rove,
Have oft been trod by those I love;
By those who, through life's by-gene hours,
Have strew'd its thorny path with flowers,
And by their influence made thy stream
A grateful poet's favourite theme.