“On either side

Is level fen, a prospect wild and wide,

With dykes on either hand, by ocean self-supplied.

Far on the right the distant sea is seen,

And salt the springs that feed the marsh between;

Beneath an ancient bridge the straitened flood

Rolls through its sloping banks of slimy mud;

Near it a sunken boat resists the tide,

That frets and hurries to the opposing side;

The rushes sharp, that on the borders grow,

Bend their brown florets to the stream below,

Impure in all its course, in all its progress slow.

Here a grave Flora scarcely deigns to bloom,

Nor wears a rosy blush, nor sheds perfume.

The few dull flowers that o'er the place are spread,

Partake the nature of their fenny bed;

Here on its wiry stem, in rigid bloom,

Grows the salt lavender, that lacks perfume;

Here the dwarf sallows creep, the septfoil harsh,

And the soft slimy mallow of the marsh.

Low on the ear the distant billows sound,

And just in view appears their stony bound.”