Clitumnus' oxen wander by the plashing Here Como's nightingale above the rowing Sings its lament; and, doubled in the lake, He sees himself and boat, and softly showing, The clouds and distant hills a picture make. Sorrento hangs there, crowned in memory's vision, Such is the album memory fills with treasures, Thomas Gold Appleton. TRAVELS BY THE FIRESIDE. HE ceaseless rain is falling fast, THE And yonder gilded vane, Immovable for three days past, It drives me in upon myself, L To pleasant books that crowd my shelf, And still more pleasant dreams. I read whatever bards have sung And the bright days when I was young In fancy I can hear again The Alpine torrent's roar, The mule-bells on the hills of Spain, I see the convent's gleaming wall I journey on by park and spire, Through fields with poppies all on fire, I fear no more the dust and heat, Let others traverse sea and land, From them I learn whatever lies And see, when looking with their eyes, Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. ENGLAND. Aldborough. THE FENS. N rode Orlando, counting all the while ON The miles he passed, and every coming mile; Like all attracted things, he quicker flies, The place approaching where the attraction lies; Is level fen, a prospect wild and wide, With dikes on either hand by ocean's self supplied: And salt the springs that feed the marsh between ; Here a grave Flora scarcely deigns to bloom, Here on its wiry stem, in rigid bloom, Grows the salt lavender that lacks perfume; THE RIVER. ITH ceaseless motion comes and goes the tide, WITH Flowing, it fills the channel vast and wide; Then back to sea, with strong majestic sweep It rolls, in ebb yet terrible and deep; Here samphire-banks and salt-wort bound the flood, There stakes and sea-weeds withering on the mud; And higher up, a ridge of all things base, Which some strong tide has rolled upon the place. Thy gentle river boasts its pygmy boat, Urged on by pains, half grounded, half afloat; While at her stern an angler takes his stand, And marks the fish he purposes to land From that clear space, where, in the cheerful ray Of the warm sun, the scaly people play. |