So ABEL, pondering on his state forlorn,
Look'd round for comfort, and was chased by scorn.
And now we saw him on the beach reclined,
Or causeless walking in the wintry wind;
And when it raised a loud and angry sea,
He stood and gazed, in wretched reverie :
He heeded not the frost, the rain, the snow,
Close by the sea he walk'd alone and slow.

CRABBE.

WATERS, bright Waters, how sweetly ye glide
Where the tapering bulrush stands up in your tide;
Where the white lilies peep and the green cresses creep,
And your whimple just lulleth the minnow to sleep.
Now lurking in silence, all lonely you take

Your meandering course through the close-tangled brake;
Where the adder may wink as he basks on the brink,
And the fox-cub and timid fawn fearlessly drink.
'Mid valley and greenwood right onward ye ramble,
Through the maze of the rushes and trail of the bramble;
Where the Bard with his note, and the child with his boat,
Will linger beside ye to dream and to dote.

For a moment the mill-wheel may waken your wrath,

And disturb the repose of your silvery path;

But your passionate spray falls like rainbows at play,
And as gently as ever ye steal on your way,

Humming a song as ye loiter along,
Looking up in the face of a shadowless day.
Waters, bright Waters, how sweetly ye glide

In the brooklet, with blossoms and birds by your side!

ELIZA COOK.