If still beneath that pine-tree's ragged A well of love-it may be deep bough Headlong yon waterfall must come, Oh let it then be dumb! 35 I trust it is, and never dry: What matter? if the waters sleep In silence and obscurity. Be anything, sweet Rill, but that which-Such change, and at the very door thou art now. "Thou Eglantine, so bright with sunny showers, Proud as a rainbow spanning half the vale, Of my fond heart, hath made me poor. XV. ΤΟ [Composed 1824.-Published 1827.] Thou one fair shrub, oh! shed thy flowers, LET other bards of angels sing, And stir not in the gale. 40 Bright suns without a spot; But thou art no such perfect thing: Rejoice that thou art not! 15 OF A FORSAKEN INDIAN WOMAN. [Composed 1798.-Published 1798.] [When a Northern Indian, from sickness, is unable to continue his journey with his companions, he is left behind, covered over with deer-skins, and is supplied with water, food, and fuel, if the situation of the place will afford it. He is informed of the track which his companions intend to pursue, and if he be unable to follow, or overtake them, he perishes alone in the desert, unless he should have the good fortune to fall in with some other tribes of Indians. The females are equally, or still more, exposed to the same fate. See that very interesting work Hearne's "Journey from Hudson's Bay to the Northern Ocean." In the high northern latitudes, as the same writer informs us, when the northern lights vary their position in the air, they make a rustling and a crackling noise, as alluded to in the following poem,]" I, BEFORE I see another day, Oh let my body die away! In sleep I heard the northern gleams; The stars, they were among my dreams; |