In his first volume Mr. Bridges offered a few rondeaux and triolets,
turning his back on all these things as soon as they became popular. In
spite of their popularity I have the audacity to like them still, in
their humble twittering way. Much more in his true vein were the lines,
"Clear and Gentle Stream," and all the other verses in which, like a true
Etonian, he celebrates the beautiful Thames:

"There is a hill beside the silver Thames,
Shady with birch and beech and odorous pine,
And brilliant under foot with thousand gems
Steeply the thickets to his floods decline.
Straight trees in every place
Their thick tops interlace,
And pendent branches trail their foliage fine
Upon his watery face.

* * * * *

A reedy island guards the sacred bower
And hides it from the meadow, where in peace
The lazy cows wrench many a scented flower,
Robbing the golden market of the bees.
And laden branches float
By banks of myosote;
And scented flag and golden fleur-de-lys
Delay the loitering boat."

I cannot say how often I have read that poem, and how delightfully it
carries the breath of our River through the London smoke. Nor less