THE HERON. 
And, dashing down into the lake, 
The splashing waters bound 
In drops and showers of silver, 
And in snow-filakes all around. 
Such is the joy that wakens, 
That clamours, and that lives, 
In all the winged creatures, 
Where nature still survives ; 
Where nature still survives 
In her regions wild and free ; 
So lives in all her creatures, 
Old fisherman, but thee! 
Whene’er I meet thee, Heron, 
By river broad and deep, 
Where mountain-torrents run and moan, 
Or ponded waters sleep ; 
By tarns upon the naked hills; 
In stony regions grey, 
Or wading in the sounding sea 
Amid the hissing spray: 
ey 
oo 
1 A a a 
eae Os os ieee 
