The day will come, when't shall be said,
"D'ye hear the news--? the Dean is dead--!
Poor man! he went, all on a sudden--!'
Ha's dropp'd, and giv'n the crow a pudden!
What money was behind him found?
"I hear about two thousand pound--
'Tis own'd he was a man of wit--,'
Yet many a foolish thing he writ--;
"And, sure he must be deeply learn'd--!'
That's more than ever I discern'd--;
"I know his nearest friends complain,
He was too airy for a dean--.
He was an honest man I'll swear--:'
Why Sir, I differ from you there,

Addressed to a friend; the gold and silver fishes having been removed to a pool in the pleasure-ground of Rydal Mount.

" The liberty of a people consists in being governed by laws which they have made for themselves, under whatever form it be of government. The liberty of a private man, in being master of his own time and actions, as far as may consist with the laws of God and of his country. Of this latter we are here to discourse." — C OWLEY .

Those breathing Tokens of your kind regard,
(Suspect not, Anna, that their fate is hard;

After the rain, the vegetables from your garden
are wonderful to behold!
But suddenly I hear that you are sick,
lying in your hidden studio.
It must be that you really have no " method for calming the mind " :
whatever made you cut those sunflowers from their stems?

You are now
In London, that great sea, whose ebb and flow
At once is deaf and loud, and on the shore
Vomits its wrecks, and still howls on for more.
Yet in its depths what treasures! You will see
That which was Godwin,--greater none than he
Though fallen--and fallen on evil times--to stand
Among the spirits of our age and land,
Before the dread tribunal of to come
The foremost,--while Rebuke cowers pale and dumb.
You will see Coleridge--he who sits obscure
In the exceeding lustre and the pure
Intense irradiation of a mind,

NAMING OF PARTS

Today we have naming of parts. Yesterday,
We had daily cleaning. And tomorrow morning,
We shall have what to do after firing. But today,
Today we have naming of parts. Japonica
Glistens like coral in all of the neighbouring gardens,
And today we have naming of parts.

This is the lower sling swivel. And this
Is the upper sling swivel, whose use you will see,
When you are given your slings. And this is the piling swivel,

Mountain of green trees and orioles everywhere!
I return from watching clouds over the stream.
Human life can never be without some kind of trouble;
it is only when walking in the mountains
that we really achieve peace.

FROM PAUL BUNYAN

He came,
striding
over the mountain,
the moon slung on his back,
like a pack,
a great pine
stuck on his shoulder
swayed as he walked,
as he talked
to his blue ox
Babe;
a huge, looming shadow
of a man,
clad
in a mackinaw coat,
his logger's shirt
open at the throat
and the great mane of hair
matching,
meeting
the locks of night,
the smoke from his cauldron pipe
a cloud on the moon
and his laugh
rolled through the mountains
like thunder
on a summer night

Lars Porsena of Clusium,
By the Nine Gods he swore
That the great house of Tarquin
Should suffer wrong no more.
By the Nine Gods he swore it,
And named a trysting-day,
And bade his messengers ride forth,
East and west and south and north,
To summon his array.

East and west and south and north,
The messengers ride fast,
And tower and town and cottage
Have heard the trumpet's blast.
Shame on the false Etruscan
Who lingers in his home,
When Porsena of Clusium
Is on the march for Rome!

The horsemen and the footmen

28.
In life our absent friend is far away:
But death may bring our friend exceeding near,
Show him familiar faces long so dear
And lead him back in reach of words we say.
He only cannot utter yea or nay
In any voice accustomed to our ear;
He only cannot make his face appear
And turn the sun back on our shadowed day.
The dead may be around us, dear and dead;
The unforgotten dearest dead may be

27.
I have dreamed of Death: — what will it be to die
Not in a dream, but in the literal truth
With all Death's adjuncts ghastly and uncouth,
The pang that is the last and the last sigh?
Too dulled, it may be, for a last good-bye,
Too comfortless for any one to soothe,
A helpless charmless spectacle of ruth
Thro' long last hours, so long while yet they fly.
So long to those who hopeless in their fear