THE LANDSCAPE BEAUTIFUL 



indeed, there are those who do not care for 

 Handel's Largo nor for Hamlet. 



Let Lucy Larcom speak for the Merri- 

 mack: 



Dear river, that didst wander through 

 My childhood's path, a vein of blue. 

 Freshening the pulses of my youth 

 Toward glimpsing hope and opening truth, 

 A heart thank-laden hastens back 

 To rest by thee, bright Merrimack! 



I once knew a brook, — a creek the 

 neighbors called it. It was muddy, its 

 banks were somewhat squalid, and the trees 

 along its borders would not take any prizes 

 at an international competition; but there 

 was a practicable swimming-hole, and I 

 once caught three catfish just above the 

 bend, and my sweetheart used to walk with 

 me through the trees there. Oh, poor and 

 homely creek, with what glorious visions of 

 true and worthy beauty did you fill my ex- 

 panding boyhood! 



There could not be an unlovely lake, I 

 suppose, just as no woman could ever be 

 unlovely except for her own sins. A lake 

 can not be sinful, of course. Superior has 

 a beauty wild and vast like that of the 

 ocean ; Champlain is glorious with a queenly 



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