TANGLE-LEAF PAPERS. 61 
A Western poet, Ben Parker, has embodied 
in a simple stanza a good idea of that freshness 
which lingers in the memory after one has been 
driven by the pressure of worldly cares out of 
the redolent ways of nature :— 
“QO morning when the days are long, 
And youth and innocence are wed, 
And every grove is full of song, 
And every pathway void of dread ; 
Who rightly sings its rightful praise, 
Or rightly dreams it o’er again, 
When cold and narrow are the days, 
And shrunken all the hopes of men — 
He shall re-waken with his song 
The morning when the days were long.” 
The old English poet, Sir Richard Fanshawe, 
took a gloomier view :— 
“ Let us use it while we may 
Snatch those joys that haste away! 
Earth her winter coat may cast 
And renew her beauty past: 
But, our winter come in vain, 
We solicit spring again; 
And when our furrows snow shall cover 
Love may return, but never lover.” 
There was a philosopher for you; but here 
comes one of our young American poets with 
a fancy that finds pretty and apt comparisons 
wherever it skips. Sings Edgar Fawcett :— 
“Tf trees are Nature’s thoughts or dreams, 
And witness how her great heart yearns, 
Then she has only shown, it seems, 
Her lightest fantasies in ferns.” 
It is quite surprising, when one comes to 
look, how chary our later poets are of using 
the dew for dampening their materials; they 
seem to prefer lamp-oil. It may be, after all, 
