f. 648. } ‘[Dec. 
MAN’S HEART. zs 
BY FRANCIS QUARLES, THE YOUNGER. 
I stood, in the sweet Spring-time, by the side 
Of a fair river, rolling wide and free; 
Winter’s cold chain had melted from its tide, > 
And on, it revelled, in its joyous pride, 
As though no ice-touch e’er could bid it bide : 
How like, my fond vain heart, how like to thee! 
I roamed its banks once more, ’midst Summer’s blaze, 
Onward it rushed to the unfathomed sea, 
Nor stayed to listen to the sweet birds’ lays, 
Nor, calm and clear, imaged the Sun’s bright rays, 
But rushed along its channel’s devious ways : 
How like, my headstrong heart, how like to thee ! 
I stood by that fair stream’s green banks again 
When Autumn winds were moaning sullenly ; 
The dead sere leaves did its bright waters stain, 
And heavy pouring floods of falling rain 
Swell’d its full breast, and drenched the neighbouring plain. 
How like, my sad swoll’n heart, how like to thee! 
I stood again, when Winter reigned severe, 
By that stream’s bank, which then looked drearily; 
Its once swift waves were frozen, cold, and clear, 
And seemed as they an army’s strength could bear, 53 
Yet failed beneath the foot that ventured there : 5 
How like, my false cold heart, how like to thee! 
And shall the Seasons only when they shew 
Their darkest lines, my heart, thy mirror be ?» 
Oh! learn Spring’s mildness, Summer’s strength, and grow 
Mature as Autumn, pure as Winter’s snow ; Pa 
So shall they, when their features brightest glow, h » 
Be most like thee, my heart, be most like thee! eo 
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