My ramble ended, I returned;

Beau, trotting far before,

The floating wreath again discerned,
And plunging, left the shore.

I saw him, with that lily cropped,

Impatient swim to meet

My quick approach, and soon he dropped

The treasure at my feet.

Charmed with the sight, the world, I cried,

Shall hear of this thy deed: My dog shall mortify the pride Of man's superior breed:

But chief myself I will enjoin,
Awake at duty's call,

To show a love as prompt as thine
To Him who gives me all.

COWPER.

THE BROOK.

BROOK! whose society the Poet seeks,
Intent his wasted spirits to renew;

And whom the curious Painter doth pursue
Through rocky passes, among flowery creeks,
And tracks thee dancing down thy water-breaks;
If I some type of thee did wish to view,
Thee, and not thee thyself, I would not do
Like Grecian Artists, give thee human cheeks,
Channels for tears; no Naiad shouldst thou be,
Have neither limbs, feet, feathers, joints, nor hairs.
It seems the Eternal Soul is clothed in thee
With purer robes than those of flesh and blood,
And hath bestowed on thee a better good-
Unwearied joy, and life without its cares.

WORDSWORTH