Thou art not beyond the moon,

But a thing "beneath our shoon :"

Let, as old Magellan did,

Others roam about the sea;
Build who will a pyramid;
Praise it is enough for me,
If there be but three or four
Who will love my little Flower.

VII.

THE

WATERFALL

AND

THE EGLANTINE.

"BEGONE, thou fond presumptuous Elf,"
Exclaimed a thundering Voice,
"Nor dare to thrust thy foolish self
Between me and my choice!"
A falling Water swoln with snows
Thus spake to a poor Briar-rose,
That, all bespattered with his foam,
And dancing high, and dancing low,
Was living, as a child might know,
In an unhappy home.

"Dost thou presume my course to block?

Off, off! or, puny Thing!

I'll hurl thee headlong with the rock

To which thy fibres cling."

The Flood was tyrannous and strong;

The patient Briar suffered long,

Nor did he utter groan or sigh,

Hoping the danger would be past :

But seeing no relief, at last

He ventured to reply.

"Ah!" said the Briar, " blame me not; Why should we dwell in strife ?

We who in this, our natal spot,

Once lived a happy life!

You stirred me on my rocky bed

What pleasure through my veins you spread!

The Summer long from day to day

My leaves you freshened and bedewed;

Nor was it common gratitude

That did your cares repay.

" When Spring came on with bud and bell,

Among these rocks did I

Before you hang my wreaths, to tell
That gentle days were nigh!
And in the sultry summer hours

I sheltered you with leaves and flowers ;
And in my leaves-now shed and gone,
The Linnet lodged, and for us two
Chaunted his pretty songs, when You
Had little voice or none.

" But now proud thoughts are in your breast

What grief is mine you see.

Ah! would you think, even yet how blest

Together we might be!

Though of both leaf and flower bereft,

Some ornaments to me are left

Rich store of scarlet hips is mine,
With which I in my humble way
Would deck you many a winter's day,
A happy Eglantine !"

What more he said I cannot tell.
The Torrent thundered down the dell

With unabating haste;

I listened, nor aught else could hear;
The Briar quaked-and much I fear
Those accents were his last.