But this I know, when thou art fled,

Where'er they lay these limbs, this head,
No clod so valueless shall be

As all that then remains of me.

O whither, whither dost thou fly,

Where bend unseen thy trackless course,
And in this strange divorce,

Ah, tell where I must seek this compound I?
To the vast ocean of empyreal flame

From whence thy essence came,

Dost thou thy flight pursue, when freed
From matter's base encumbering weed?
Or dost thou, hid from sight,

Wait, like some spell-bound knight,

Through blank oblivious years the appointed

hour

To break thy trance and reassume thy power?
Yet canst thou without thought or feeling be?
O say what art thou, when no more thou'rt thee?
Life! we've been long together,

Through pleasant and through cloudy weather; 'Tis hard to part when friends are dear; Perhaps 'twill cost a sigh, a tear;

Then steal away, give little warning,

Choose thine own time;

Say not Good-night, but in some brighter clime

Bid me Good-morning.

Anna Lætitia Barbauld.

CCXCI.

THE GREEN LINNET.

BENEATH these fruit-tree boughs that shed
Their snow-white blossoms on my head,

Và must sunshine round me spread
If Sonny's incicuted weather,

ICS SHEster i nocks how sweet
Tyst put my hard-seat,

Jad lowers and aris once more to greet, user remis gether!

མེ་ ཡིན་མི་ སེམ ོ་སེན་ སེ ཅན ཙ མ པ ཅ

As if by that exulting strain

He mock'd and treated with disdain
The voiceless Form he chose to feign,
While fluttering in the bushes.

W. Wordsworth.

CCXCII.

BONNIE LESLIE.

O SAW ye bonnie Lesley

As she gaed o'er the border ?

She's gane, like Alexander,

To spread her conquests farther.

To see her is to love her,

And love but her for ever;

For Nature made her what she is,
And ne'er made sic anither!

Thou art a queen, fair Lesley,
Thy subjects we, before thee;
Thou art divine, fair Lesley;

The hearts o' men adore thee.

The Deil he could na scaith thee,

Or aught that wad belang thee;
He'd look into thy bonnie face,

And say "I canna wrang thee!"

The Powers aboon will tent thee;
Misfortune sha' na steer thee;
Thou'rt like themselves sae lovely
That ill they'll ne'er let near thee.

Return again, fair Lesley,

Return to Caledonie !

CCXCIV.

UPON WESTMINSTER BRIDGE
SEPT. 3, 1802.

EARTH has not anything to show more fair:
Dull would he be of soul who could pass by
A sight so touching in its majesty:
This City now doth, like a garment, wear

The beauty of the morning: silent, bare,
Ships, towers, domes, theatres, and temples lie
Open unto the fields, and to the sky,—
All bright and glittering in the smokeless air.

Never did sun more beautifully steep

In his first splendour, valley, rock, or hill;
Ne'er saw I, never felt, a calm so deep!
The river glideth at his own sweet will:

Dear God! the very houses seem asleep;
And all that mighty heart is lying still!

W. Wordsworth.

CCXCV.

THE BANKS OF DOON.

YE flowery banks o' bonnie Doon
How can ye bloom sae fair!
How can ye chant, ye little birds,
And I sae fu' o' care!

Thou'll break my heart, thou bonnie bird,

That sings upon the bough;

Thou minds me o' the happy days

When my fause Luve was true.