A RIVER. FROM "SALMONIA." Hal. I think I can promise you green meadows, shady trees, the song of the nightingale, and a full, clear river, Poiet. This last is, in my opinion, the most poetical object in nature. I will not fail to obey your summons. Pliny has, as well as I recollect, compared a river to human life. I have never read the passage in his works but I have been a hundred times struck with the analogy, particularly amid mountain scenery. The river, small and clear at its origin, gushes forth from rocks, falls into deep glens, and wantons and meanders through a wild and picturesque country, nourishing only the uncultivated tree or flower by its dew or spray. In this, its state of infancy and youth, it may be compared to the human mind, in which fancy and strength of imagination are predominant—it is more beautiful than useful. When the different rills or torrents join, and descend into the plain, it becomes slow and stately in its motions; it is applied to move machinery, to irrigate meadows, and to bear upon its bosom the stately barge; in this mature state it is deep, strong, useful. As it flows on toward the sea, it loses its force and its motion, and at last, as it were, becomes lost, and mingled with the mighty abyss of waters. Hal. One might pursue the metaphor still further, and say that in its origin-its thundering and foam, when it carries down clay from the bank, and becomes impure-it resembles the youthful mind affected by dangerous passions. And the influence of a lake, in calming and clearing the turbid water, may be compared to the effect of reason in more mature life, when the tranquil, deep, cool, and unimpassioned mind is freed from its fever, its troubles, bubbles, noise, and foam. And, above all, the sources of a river-which may be considered as belonging to the atmosphere-and its termination in the ocean, may be regarded as imaging the divine origin of the human mind, and its being ultimately returned to, and lost in, the Infinite and Eternal Intelligence from which it originally sprung. SIR HUMPHREY DAVY. LIFE COMPARED TO A STREAM. Life glides away, Lorenzo, like a brook; We call the brook the same; the same we think Our life, though still more rapid in its flow; We start, awake, look out; our bark is burst! EDWARD YOUNG, 1681-1755 ON THE BRONZE IMAGE OF A FROG. FROM THE GREEK OF PLATO. A traveler, when nearly exhausted by thirst, being guided by the croaking of a frog to a spring of water, afterward vowed to the Nymphs a bronze image of the little creature. The servant of the Nymphs, the singer dank, Pleased with clear fountains-the shower-loving frog, To quench the fever of the traveler's thirst. For the amphibious creature's well-timed song, The longed-for draught from the sweet cooling spring. Translation of W. HAY. LITTLE STREAMS. Little streams are light and shadow, Flowing by the green way-side, Through the forest dim and wild, Through the hamlet still and small, By the cottage, by the hall, By the ruin'd abbey still, Turning here and there a mill, Bearing tribute to the river Little streams, I love you ever. Summer music is there flowing Flowering plants in them are growing; Happy life is in them all, Little streams have flowers a many, There the flowering rush you meet, Little streams, their voices cheery, Flowing on from day to day, Those bright things that have their dwelling, Down in valleys green and lowly, MARY HOWITT, Hold your tongues, you tuneful creatures Silence is against our natures. Where, secure from toil and trouble, Our symphonious accents flow. Brikake-kesh, koàsh, koàsh. * * Translation of J. II. FRFRE. THE RIVULETS. Go up and mark the new-born rill, With a bright emerald thread. Canst thou her bold career foretell, What rocks she shall o'erleap or rend, How far in ocean's swell, Her freshening billows send? |