1 8. BY THE BLITHE BROOK. 



I chatter over stony ways 

 In little sharps and trebles, 



I bubble into eddying bays, 

 I babble on the pebbles. 



I chatter, chatter, as I flow 



To join the brimming river, 

 For men may come, and men may go, 



But I go on forever. 



ALFRED TENNYSON. 



167 



