We rose up from the fountain-side;
And down the smooth descent

Of the green sheep-track did we glide;
And through the wood we went ;

And ere we came to Leonard's Rock
He sang those witty rhymes

About the crazy old church-clock,

And the bewilder'd chimes.

W. Wordsworth

T1

CCLXXXIII

THE RIVER OF LIFE

HE more we live, more brief appear

Our life's succeeding stages:

A day to childhood seems a year,
And years like passing ages.

The gladsome current of our youth,
Ere passion yet disorders,
Steals lingering like a river smooth
Along its grassy borders.

But as the care-worn cheek grows wan,
And sorrow's shafts fly thicker,
Ye Stars, that measure life to man,
Why seem your courses quicker?

When joys have lost their bloom and breath

And life itself is vapid,

Why, as we reach the Falls of Death,

Feel we its tide more rapid?

It may be strange yet who would change

Time's course to slower speeding, When one by one our friends have gone And left our bosoms bleeding?

Heaven gives our years of fading strength

Indemnifying fleetness;

And those of youth, a seeming length,

Proportion'd to their sweetness.

T. Campbell

CCLXXXIV

THE HUMAN SEASONS

OUR Seasons fill the measure of the year;

He has his lusty Spring, when fancy clear
Takes in all beauty with an easy span :

He has his Summer, when luxuriously
Spring's honey'd cud of youthful thought he loves
To ruminate, and by such dreaming high
Is nearest unto heaven : quiet coves

His soul has in its Autumn, when his wings
He furleth close; contented so to look
On mists in idleness to let fair things
Pass by unheeded as a threshold brook :---

He has his Winter too of pale misfeature,
Or else he would forego his mortal nature.

7. Keats

CCLXXXV

A LAMENT

WORLD! O Life! O Time!

On whose last steps I climb,

Trembling at that where I had stood before; When will return the glory of your prime?

Out of the day and night
A joy has taken flight:

Fresh spring, and summer, and winter hoar Move my faint heart with grief, but with delight

O never more!

P. B. Shelley

MY

CCLXXXVI

Y heart leaps up when I behold
A rainbow in the sky:

So was it when my life began,
So is it now I am a man,

So be it when I shall. grow old

Or let me die!

The Child is father of the Man:
And I could wish my days to be
Bound each to each by natural piety.
W. Wordsworth

CCLXXXVII

ODE

ON INTIMATIONS OF IMMORTALITY FROM RECOLLECTIONS OF EARLY CHILDHOOD

THE

HERE was a time when meadow, grove, and stream,

The earth, and every common sight

To me did seem

Apparell❜d in celestial light,

The glory and the freshness of a dream.
It is not now as it has been of yore;

Turn wheresoe'er I may,

By night or day,

The things which I have seen I now can see no more!

The rainbow comes and goes,

And lovely is the rose;

The moon doth with delight

Look round her when the heavens are bare;

Waters on a starry night

Are beautiful and fair;

The sunshine is a glorious birth;

But yet I know, where'er I go,

That there hath pass'd away a glory from the earth.

Now, while the birds thus sing a joyous song,
And while the young lambs bound

As to the tabor's sound,

To me alone there came a thought of grief:
A timely utterance gave that thought relief,
And I again am strong.

The cataracts blow their trumpets from the steep, —

This body that does me grievous wrong,
O'er aery cliffs and glittering sands
How lightly then it flash'd along :
Like those trim skiffs, unknown of yore,
On winding lakes and rivers wide,
That ask no aid of sail or oar,

That fear no spite of wind or tide!

Nought cared this body for wind or weather When Youth and I lived in 't together.

Flowers are lovely; Love is flower-like;
Friendship is a sheltering tree;

O! the joys, that came down shower-like,
Of Friendship, Love, and Liberty,

Ere I was old!

Ere I was old?— Ah, woful Ere,
Which tells me, Youth 's no longer here!
O Youth! for years so many and sweet
'Tis known that Thou and I were one,
I'll think it but a fond conceit
It cannot be, that Thou art gone!
Thy vesper-bell hath not yet toll'd:
And thou wert aye a masker bold!
What strange disguise hast now put on
To make believe that thou art gone?
I see these locks in silvery slips,
This drooping gait, this alter'd size:
But Springtide blossoms on thy lips,
And tears take sunshine from thine eyes!
Life is but Thought: so think I will
That Youth and I are housemates still.

Dew-drops are the gems of morning,
But the tears of mournful eve!