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No! on the wings of air 
Might I be left to fly, 
I know not and I heed not where ; 
A waif of earth and sky! 
Or flung upon the stream, 
Curld like a fairy boat ; 
As through the changes of a dream, 
To the world’s end to float. 
Who that hath ever been, 
Could bear to be no more? 
Yet who would tread again the scene 
He trod through life before ? 
On, with intense desire, 
Man’s spirit will move on: 
It seems to die, yet, like Heav’n’s fire, 
It is not quenched but gone. 
The sun now sheds on the foliage a pale 
yellow hue, and the poplar is tinged with dis- 
coloured gold, whilst the acacia folds up its 
bright foliage, which the sun’s rays will expand 
nomore. The birch tree waves its long branches, 
already stripped of ornament; and the fir, which 
preserves its green pyramids, balances them 
proudly in the air. The oak is immovable—it 
resists the efforts of the wind to strip its stately 
head ; and the king of the forest refuses to shed 
its leaves until the ensuing spring. We are 
told that all these trees are moved by different 
passions ; one bows profoundly as if it wished to 
render homage to him whom the tempest cannot 
move ; another seems desirous of embracing its 

