274 CONSOLATIONS OF SOLITUDE
Quakes beneath the trembling hands Of him that on the frail bridge stands, There, the tottering rail below, The limpid waters wreathing flow, Now hid from sight in piny shroud, Now 'neath the light and quivering cloud Of bending aspens glimmering pale ; There swift the fleecy foam-balls sail. Till, with the current clear and thin, They plunge my little basin in. And on the pool so smooth and deep Lie settled in a tranquil sleep. That pool, so pleasant to the sight. At last shall stranger eyes delight. Since now the artist's skilful hand '9 Hath made its placid breast expand In mimic floods, on painted vales, Where winds the rill through sepia dales ; And now its little cataracts rush O'er barriers built with pen and brush. 'Midst pencilled woods and inky grass, Unheard, though seen, its waters pass, And oft recall, in wintry hours, Its merry route 'twixt banks of flowers.
��But endless peace on earth below Were bliss nor thou nor I must know ; Fate such boon hath granted not Or to man's or nature's lot. Thou, too, bright and beauteous brook, Oft dost lose thy tranquil look. Destined in a sterner course Force to overcome with force. When, beneath a three days' shower. Driven before the freshet's power,
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