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Seeming still — yet still in motion,
Just like mortal prime.
River! River! rapid River!
Swifter now you slip away; Swift and silent as an arrow Through a channel dark and narrow
Like life's closing day.
River! River! headlong River!
Down you dash into the sea; Sea, that line hath never sounded, Sea, that voyage never bounded
I make a sudden sally,
To bicker down a valley.
By thirty hills I hurry down,
Or slip between the ridges; By twenty thorps, a little town,
And half a hundred bridges.
I chatter over stony ways,
In little sharps and trebles, I bubble into eddying bays,
I babble on the pebbles.
With many a curve my banks I fret
By many a field and fallow, And many a fairy foreland set
With willow-weed and mallow.
I chatter, chatter, as I flow,
To join the brimming river; For men may come and men may go,
But I go on forever.
I wind about, and in and out,
With here a blossom sailing, And here and there a lusty trout,
And here and there a grayling.
I steal by lawns and grassy plots,
I slide by hazel covers;
That grow for happy lovers.
I slip, I slide, I gloom, I glance,
Among my skimming swallows;
Against my sandy shallows.
I murmur under moon and stars
In brambly wildernesses;
I loiter round my cresses.
And out again I curve and flow
To join the brimming river,
- From "Maud”
Mary BOTHAM HOWITT (1798-1888), an English writer, who wrote for children, and many prose and poetical articles relating to nature. The tales of Frederika Bremer, and the “Improvisator” of Hans Christian Andersen, were translated into English by Mrs. Howitt.
God might have made the earth bring forth
Enough for great and small,
We might have had enough, enough,
For every want of ours,
For luxury, medicine, and toil,
And yet have had no flowers.
Then wherefore, wherefore were they made
All dyed with rainbow light,
Springing in valleys green and low,
And on the mountains high,
Where no man passes by ?
Our outward life requires them not,
Then wherefore had they birth?
To beautify the earth.
To comfort man, to whisper hope,
Whene'er his faith is dim,
Will care much more for Him.
The drying of a single tear has more of honest fame than shedding seas of gore.-Byron.