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Which she with precious vialed liquors heals.
For which the shepherds at their festivals
Carol her goodness loud in rustic lays,

And throw sweet garland wreaths into her stream
Of pansies, pinks, and gaudy daffodils.
And, as the old swain said, she can unlock
The clasping charm, and thaw the numbing spell,
If she be right invoked in warbling song,
For maidenhood she loves, and will be swift
To aid a virgin, such as was herself,

In hard-besetting need; this will I try,
And add the power of some adjuring verse.

Song

Sabrina fair,

Listen where thou art sitting

Under the glassy, cool, translucent wave,
In twisted braids of lilies knitting
The loose train of thy amber-dropping hair,
Listen for dear honour's sake,
Goddess of the silver lake,

Listen and save.

Listen and appear to us

In name of great Oceanus,

By th' earth-shaking Neptune's mace,
And Tethys' grave majestic pace,
By hoary Nereus' wrinkled look,
And the Carpathian wizard's hook,
By scaly Triton's winding shell,
And old soothsaying Glaucus' spell,
By Leucothea's lovely hands,
And her son that rules the strands,
By Thetis' tinsel-slippered feet,
And the songs of Sirens sweet,
By dead Parthenope's dear tomb,
And fair Ligea's golden comb,

Wherewith she sits on diamond rocks,
Sleeking her soft alluring locks,

By all the nymphs that nightly dance
Upon thy streams with wily glance,
Rise, rise, and heave thy rosy head
From thy coral-paven bed,

And bridle in thy headlong wave,

Till thou our summons answered have.

Listen and save.

Sabrina rises, attended by Water-Nymphs, and sings

By the rushy-fringed bank,

Where

grows the willow and the osier dank,
My sliding chariot stays,

Thick set with agate, and the azure sheen
Of turkis blue, and emerald green,

That in the channel strays;

Whilst from off the waters fleet,
Thus I set my printless feet
O'er the cowslip's velvet head,
That bends not as I tread;
Gentle Swain, at thy request
I am here.

Milton.

Chalvey

Chalvey stream, dear Chalvey stream,
There are not many singers

Would think you worth a minstrel's dream,
And very weary fingers.

I sing your praises undeterred;

In days when sight was sharper,

Another Jordan was preferred

To Abana and Pharpar.

A mile across the level land
(A pool is set with willows),
You toss a cone of restless sand,
And leap in tiny billows.

So cool and calm, from hidden springs,
Out of the dark that bound you,
You join a hundred living things,

Sweet sights, sweet scents around you.

You ripple on 'neath summer skies,
With grassy banks to guide you,
Where to and fro swift laughter flies
Of boys that play beside you.
And all at once, before you know,
Beneath the bridge you shiver,
You thread the stately pool, and lo!
You topple in the river.

By weir and lock, by bridge and mill,
You roll and roar and rumble,
And fouler things and fouler still
Within your eddies tumble.
And soon beneath a smoky pall
The city hums about you,
And churned by iron wheels you fall
In tides that toss and flout you.

Then waking after fevered days,
You see, beyond the shipping,
The shadowy headland through the haze,
The red buoy dipping, dipping;

The air intoxicates like wine,
And in the merry weather,

The flying sail, the hissing brine
Keep carnival together.

(B 838)

16

Oh, in that larger place, amid

The ecstasy of motion,

When you are free and fearless, hid
Within the leaping ocean,

When fond constraint to freedom yields,
With all the world before you,
Forget not the familiar fields,

The quiet source that bore you.

O Chalvey stream, dear Chalvey stream,
Flow onward unabated,

What though to careless eyes you seem
A little overrated.

I'm not ashamed to call you friend,

To own our fond relations,

Like all things mortal you depend

On your associations.

A. C. Benson.

S

Two Rivers

AYS Tweed to Till

"What gars ye rin sae still?" Says Till to Tweed

"Though ye rin with speed

And I rin slaw,

For ae man that ye droon

I droon twa".

Anon.

Dartside

CANNOT tell what you say, green leaves,
I cannot tell what you say:

But I know that there is a spirit in you,
And a word in you this day.

I cannot tell what you say, rosy rocks,
I cannot tell what you say:

But I know that there is a spirit in you,
And a word in you this day.

I cannot tell what you say, brown streams,
I cannot tell what you say:

But I know that in you too a spirit doth live,
And a word doth speak this day.

"Oh green is the colour of faith and truth, And rose the colour of love and youth,

And brown of the fruitful clay.

Sweet Earth is faithful, and fruitful, and young,
And her bridal day shall come ere long,

And you shall know what the rocks and the streams
And the whispering woodlands say."

Charles Kingsley.

Lynmouth

CODY HAVE brought her I love to this sweet place,

Far
away from the world of men and strife,
That, I may talk to her a charmed space,
And make a long rich memory in my life.

Around my love and me the brooding hills,
Full of delicious murmurs, rise on high,

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