The stag in limpid currents with surprise

There solid billows of enormous size, Alps of green ice, in wild disorder rise.

He the robe of justice wore, Sully'd not, as heretofore, When the magistrate was sought With yearly gifts. Of what avail Are guilty hoards? for life is frail; And we are judg'd where favour is not bought.

The flowers anew returning seasons bring! But beauty faded has no second spring.

Studious of ease and fond of humble things.

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.

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