THEY tell us that when weary travellers deem They view through quivering heat across the sand Great rocks for shadow in a weary land,
And clustering palms, and, fairer yet, the gleam Where smiles in light to laugh in sound the stream,
This is no work of some enchanter's wand, But that reflected here true visions stand Of far-off things that close beside them seem.
So, worn with life's hot march, when near at hand A happier world we see upon us beam, Where death and parting need not be our theme, None there by toil forefought, by grief unmanned, Prophets of Science, hush your stern command, Oh ! bid us not to hold it all a dream. H. T. R.