Classic Poem

Cheerful old man! whose pleasant hours were spent
Where Lea's still waters through their sedges glide;
Or on the fairer banks of peaceful Trent,
Or Dove hemm'd in by rocks on either side:
Thy book is redolent of fields and flowers,
Of freshly flowing streams and honey-suckle bowers.

Although I reck not of the rod and line,
Thou needest no such brotherhood to give
Charm to thy artless pages — they shall shine,
And thou depicted in them, long shalt live
For many a one to whom thy craft may be
A thing unknown, ev'n as it is to me.

Thy love of nature, quiet contemplation,
In meadows where the world was left behind;
Still seeking with a blameless recreation
In troubled times to keep a quiet mind;
This, with thy simple utterance, imparts
A pleasure ever new to musing hearts.

And thou hast deeper feelings to revere,
Drawn from a fountain even more divine,
That blend thine own with memories as dear,
With names our hearts with gratitude enshrine; —
Holy George Herbert, Wotton, Ken, and Donne,
The pious Hooker, Cranmer, Sanderson.