And on our ears from deep among the hills

Breaks now the rapid's sudden quickening roar.

Ah yet the same, or have they changed their face,

The fair green fields, and can it still be seen,

The white log cottage near the mountain's base,

So bright and quiet, so home-like and serene?

Ah, well I question, for as five years go,

How many blessings fall, and how much woe.

Aye there they are, nor have they changed their cheer,

The fields, the hut, the leafy mountain brows;

Across the lonely dusk again I hear

The loitering bells, the lowing of the cows,

[Pg 41]

The bleat of many sheep, the stilly rush

Of the low whispering river, and through all,

Soft human tongues that break the deepening hush

With faint-heard song or desultory call:

Oh comrades hold; the longest reach is past;

The stream runs swift, and we are flying fast.

The shore, the fields, the cottage just the same,

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