'T
IS a queer old pile of timbers, all gnarled and rough and green,
Both moss-o'ergrown and weed-covered, and jaggèd too, I ween!
'Tis battered and 'tis spattered, all worn and knocked about,
Beclamped with rusty rivets, and bepatched with timbers stout;
A tottering, trembling structure, enshrining memories dear,
This weather-beaten barrier, this quaint old Blankton Weir.
While leaning on those withered rails, what feelings oft come back,
As I watch the white foam sparkling and note the current's track;
What crowds of fleeting fancies come dancing through my brain!
And the good old days of Blankton, I live them o'er again;
What hopes and fears, gay smiles, sad tears, seem mirrored in the mere,
While looking on its glassy face by tell-tale Blankton Weir!
I've seen it basking 'neath the rays of summer's golden glow,
And when sweetly by the moonlight, silver ripples ebb and flow;
When Nature starts in spring-time, awakening into life;
When autumn leaves are falling, and the yellow corn is rife;
'Mid the rime and sleet of winter, all through the live-long year,
I've watched the water rushing through this tide-worn Blankton Weir.
And I mind me of one even, so calm and clear and bright,
What songs we sang—whose voices rang—that lovely summer night.
Where are the hearty voices now who trolled those good old lays?
And where the silvery laughter that rang in bygone days?
Come back, that night of long ago! Come back, the moonlight clear!
When hearts beat light, and eyes were bright, about old Blankton Weir.
Was ever indolence so sweet, were ever days so fine,
As when we lounged in that old punt and played with rod and line?
'Tis true few fish we caught there, but the good old ale we quaffed,
As we chatted, too, and smoked there, and idled, dreamed, and laughed:
Then thought we only of to-day, of morrow had no fear,
For sorrow scarce had tinged the stream that flowed through Blankton Weir.
Those dreamy August afternoons, when in our skiff we lay,
To hear the current murmuring as slow it swirled away;
The plaintive hum of dragon-fly, the old weir's plash and roar,
While Some-one's gentle voice, too, seems whispering there once more;
Come back, those days of love and trust, those times of hope and fear,
When girls were girls, and hearts were hearts, about old Blankton Weir!
Those brilliant sunny mornings when we tumbled out of bed,
And hurried on a few rough clothes, and to the river sped!
What laughing joyaunce hung about those merry days agone,
We clove the rushing current at the early flush of dawn!
Tremendous headers took we in the waters bright and clear,
And splashed and dashed, and dived and swam, just off old Blankton Weir.
Then that pleasant picnic-party, when all the girls were there,
In pretty morning dresses and with freshly-braided hair;
Fair Annie, with those deep-blue eyes, and rosy, laughing Nell,
Dark Helen, sunny Amy, and the stately Isobel;
Ah! Lizzie, 'twas but yesterday—at least 'twould so appear—
We plighted vows of constancy, not far from Blankton Weir.
Those flashing eyes, those brave true hearts, are gone, and few remain
To mourn the loss of sunny hours that ne'er come back again:
Some married are—ah! me, how changed—for they will think no more
Of how they joined our chorus there, or helped to pull the oar:
One gentle voice is hushed for aye—we miss a voice so dear—
Who cheered along with evensong our path by Blankton Weir.
Amid the whirl of weary life—I hear it o'er and o'er,
That plaintive well-loved lullaby—the old weir's distant roar:
It gilds the cloud of daily toil with sunshine's fitful gleams,
It breaks upon my slumber, and I hear it in my dreams:
Like music of the good old times, it strikes upon mine ear—
If there's an air can banish care, 'tis that of Blankton Weir!
I know the river's rushing, but it rushes not for me,
I feel the morning blushing, though I am not there to see;
For younger hearts now live and love where once we used to dwell,
And others laugh, and dream, and sing, in spots we loved so well;
Their motto "Carpe diem"—'twas ours for many a year—
As show these rhymes of sunny times about old Blankton Weir.