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ephemeron revels away her day’s life in merry sport, without 
care or fear. Shelley, in his dream of flowers, has an exquisite 
peep of such a spot;— 
And nearer to the river’s trembling edge 
I'here grew broad flag-flowers, purple prank’d with white, 
And starry river-buds among the sedge, 
And floating Water-Lilies, broad and bright, 
AVhich lit the oak that overhung the edge 
With moonlight beams of their own watery light; 
And bulrushes and reeds of so deep green. 
As soothed the dazzled eye with sober sheen. 
Shakspeare beautifully describes a like scene, in Hamlet, 
when the Queen relates the manner of Ophelia’s death. The 
passage is familiar to all—but few will object to its repetition 
here;— 
There is a Willow grows aslant a brook 
Tliat shows his hoar leaves in the glassy stream: 
There with fantastic garlands did she come. 
Of crow-flowers, nettles, daysies, and long purples, 
That liberal shepherds give a grosser name. 
But our cold maids do dead-men’s fingers call them: 
'I'here on the pendant boughs her coronet weeds 
Clambering to hang, an envious sliver broke; 
When down the weedy trophies, and herself. 
Fell in the weeping brook. Her clothes spread wide. 
And, mermaid-like, awhile they bore her up ; 
Which time she chanted snatches of old tunes; 
As one incapable of her own distress, 
Or like a creature native and indu’d 
Unto that element; but long it could not be. 
Till that her garments, heavy with their drink. 
Pulled the poor w'retch from her melodious lay 
To muddy death. 
