A JOURNEY TO NATURE 



They think in hyperbole, like Romeo. They are 

 superbly anthropomorphic. Stars throb, trees 

 breathe, waves dance, leaves utter prayers, birds 

 woo. They make the planets think of the same 

 girl that has usurped their minds ; the ocean is 

 crammed with Aphrodites matter is hymeneal. 

 Do you suppose such a fellow is thinking of 

 Nature ? Confound it, he is thinking of himself, 

 and cunning Nature, who is thinking of her race, 

 cajoles and fools him to the top of his bent, and 

 when she has accomplished her own purpose, she 

 drops him like a hot potato. The surest way to 

 get rid of the Grecian mythology is to get married. 

 Then old Triton hands his * wreathed horn over 

 to the youngest member of the family. Our re 

 cent poets string Nature upon their desires. I 

 was reading the other day our friend Cawein, and 

 he has the audacity to say : 



&quot; There is no rhyme that is half so sweet 



As the song of the wind in the rippling wheat. 



There is no metre that s half so fine 



As the lilt of the brook under rock and vine, 



And the loveliest lyric I ever heard 



Was the wild-wood strain of a forest bird. 



I don t know that young man, his poetry pro 

 claims him to be young, but if ever he settles 

 down, he will probably rewrite that verse some 

 thing like this : 



&quot; There is no song that is half so sweet 

 As the clash of matter one is apt to meet. 



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