TO A RIVER.
DARK spirit, oh listen ! thou that fiercely fiowest, So fierce and so impatient to be gone : Is it fear, or some wild vengeance that thou owest, Or doth the fiend of madness drive thee on? Nay—for that stormy heart has been my own— Thou art full of glorious passion from the hills, And in thy strength goest forth to conquer ills, Not thinking how thou must be overthrown. Yet chafe not, noble River ! nor seek to mend God's purpose in thee and thine own far end, Lest those proud waves o'erflow in sluggish mire : His be the grief who would not brook controul, Within whose heart has ceased the great desire,
And stagnant are the waters of his soul. J. R.