I'm just now started reading books. Currently starting the book Three Men in a Boat by Jerome K. Jerome (1889).
I am not able to understand the below bold sentence in the paragraph.
while, in the pauses of our talk, the river, playing round the boat, prattles strange old tales and secrets, sings low the old child's song that it has sung so many thousand years — will sing so many thousand years to come, before its voice grows harsh and old — a song that we, who have learnt to love its changing face, who have so often nestled on its yielding bosom, think, somehow . . .