LINES WRITTEN NEAR RICHMOND, UPON THE THAMES, AT EVENING.

How rich the wave, in front, imprest

With evening-twilights summer hues,

While, facing thus the crimson west,

The boat her silent path pursues!

And see how dark the backward stream!

A little moment past, so smiling!

And still, perhaps, with faithless gleam,

Some other loiterer beguiling.

Such views the youthful bard allure,

But, heedless of the following gloom,

He deems their colours shall endure

Till peace go with him to the tomb.

--And let him nurse his fond deceit,

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