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The beauties of the wilderness are His,
That makes so gay the solitary place,
Where no eye sees them; and the fairer forms
That cultivation glories in are His.

He sets the bright procession on its way,
And marshals all the order of the year;

He marks the bounds which Winter may not pass,
And blunts his pointed fury; in its case,
Russet and rude, folds up the tender germ,
Uninjured, with inimitable art;

And, ere one flowery season fades and dies,
Designs the blooming wonders of the next.
The Lord of all, Himself through all diffused,
Sustains, and is the life of all that lives.
Nature is but a name for an effect,

Whose cause is God. . . . One Spirit-His

Who wore the platted thorns, with bleeding brows—
Rules universal nature. Not a flower

But shows some touch, in freckle,, streak, or stain,
Of his unrivalled pencil. He inspires
Their balmy odours, and imparts their hues,
And bathes their eyes with nectar, and includes
In grains as countless as the seaside sands,
The forms with which he sprinkles all the earth.
Happy who walks with him! whom what he finds
Of flavour or of scent in fruit or flower,
Or what he views of beautiful or grand
In Nature, from the broad majestic oak
To the green blade that twinkles in the sun,
Prompts with remembrance of a present God.

COWPER.

182. THE EBB TIDE.

LOWLY thy flowing tide

Came in, old Avon! scarcely did mine

eyes,

As watchfully I roamed thy greenwood side,
Behold the gentle rise.

With many a stroke and strong
The labouring boatmen upward plied their oars,
And yet the eye beheld them labouring long
Between thy winding shores.

Now down thine ebbing tide
The unlabour'd boat falls rapidly along;
A solitary helmsman sits to guide,
And sings an idle song.

Now o'er the rocks that lay
So silent late, the shallow current roars;
Fast flow thy waters on their seaward way,
Through wider-spreading shores.

Avon! I gaze, and know

The lesson emblemed in thy varying way :
It speaks of human joys that rise so slow,
So rapidly decay.

Kingdoms which long have stood,

And slow to strength and power attained at last,
Thus from the summit of high fortune's flood
Ebb to their ruin fast.

Thus like thy flow appears

Time's tardy course to manhood's envied stage;
Alas! how hurryingly the ebbing years
Then hasten to old age!

SOUTHEY.

183. NAPOLEON'S FAREWELL.

FAREWELL to the land where the gloom of my

glory,

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Arose and o'ershadowed the earth with her nameShe abandons me now - but the page of her story, The brightest or blackest, is filled with my fame. I have warred with a world which vanquished me only

When the meteor of conquest allured me too far; I have coped with the nations which dread me thus lonely,

The last single captive to millions in war.

Farewell to thee, France! when thy diadem crowned me,

I made thee the gem and the wonder of earth; But thy weakness decrees I should leave as I found thee

Decayed in thy glory and sunk in thy worth.

Oh for the veteran hearts that were wasted

In strife with the storm when their battles were won! Then the eagle whose gaze in that moment was blasted,

Had still soared with eyes fixed on victory's sun!

Farewell to thee, France! but when liberty rallies
Once more in thy regions, remember me then :
The violet still grows in the depth of thy valleys;
Though withered, thy tear will unfold it again!
Yet, yet I may baffle the hosts that surround us,
And yet may thy heart leap awake to my voice,
There are links which must break in the chain that
has bound us,

Then turn thee, and call on the chief of thy choice!

LORD BYRON.

184. THE WATERFALL AND THE BRIER

ROSE.

"BEGONE, thou fond presumptuous elf,"

Exclaim'd a thundering voice,

"Nor dare to thrust thy foolish self
Between me and my choice!"
A fall of water swollen with snows
Thus spake to a poor brier-rose,

That, all bespatter'd with his foam,
And dancing high, and dancing low,
Was living, as a child might know,
In an unhappy home.

"Dost thou presume my course to block?
Off, off! or, puny thing!

I'll hurl thee headlong with the rock
To which thy fibres cling."

The flood was tyrannous and strong;
The patient brier suffer'd long,

Nor did he utter groan or sigh, Hoping the danger would be past; But seeing no relief, at last

He ventured to reply.

"Ah!" said the brier, "blame me not:
Why should we dwell in strife?
We who in this, our natal spot,

Once lived a happy life!

You stirr'd me on my rocky bed

What pleasure through my veins you spread!
The summer long, from day to day
My leaves you freshen'd and bedew'd!
Nor was it common gratitude

That did

your cares repay.

"When spring came on with bud and bell,
Among these rocks did I

Before you hang my wreath, to tell
That gentle days were nigh!
And in the sultry summer hours
I shelter'd you with leaves and flowers;
And in my leaves, now shed and gone,
The linnet lodged, and for us two
Chanted his pretty songs, when you
Had little voice or none."

What more he said I cannot tell :

The stream came thundering down the dell,
And gallop'd loud and fast;

I listen'd, nor aught else could hear:
The brier quaked, and much I fear
Those accents were his last.

WORDSWORTH,

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