She throws a kiss, and bids me run

When Spring is old, and dewy winds Blow from the south, with odors sweet, I see my love, in shadowy groves, Speed down dark aisles on shining feet.

Bubble, bubble, flows the stream Like an old tune through a dream.

The scene was changed. It was a bark that slowly held its way, And o'er its lee the coast of France in the light of evening lay; And on its deck a lady sat, who gazed with tearful eyes Upon the fast receding hills that dim and distant rise.

What great Effects from slender Causes flow!

So All is diff’rent, and yet All is One.

But as well may you, when urging a man up-hill with a heavy load upon his back, and with your lash also upon his back, tell him, that be has nothing to do either with the load or the lash.