HOW THE WATER COMES DOWN AT LODORE. HERE it comes sparkling, It hastens along conflicting strong; Its caverns and rocks among. Around and around; With endless rebound; Receding and speeding, And thundering and floundering, And falling and crawling and sprawling, And driving and riving and striving, And sprinkling and twinkling and wrinkling, And sounding and bounding and rounding, And bubbling and troubling and Dividing and gliding and sliding, And clattering and battering and And gleaming and streaming and steaming and beaming, And rushing and flushing and brushing and gushing, And flapping and rapping and clapping and slapping, And curling and whirling and purling and twirling, Retreating and meeting and beating and sheeting, Delaying and straying and playing and spraying, Advancing and prancing and glancing and dancing, Recoiling, turmoiling, and toiling and boiling, And thumping and plumping and bumping and jumping, And dashing and flashing and splashing and clashing, And so never ending but always descending, Sounds and motions for ever and ever are blending; All at once, and all o'er, with a mighty uproar, And in this way the water comes down at Lodore. THE OLD MAN'S COMFORTS, AND HOW HE GAINED THEM. You are old, Father William, the young man cried, The few locks that are left you are gray; On a buoy in the storm it floated and swung, And over the waves its warning rung. When the rock was hid by the surges' swell, The Mariners heard the warning bell; The sun in heaven was shining gay, And there was joyance in their sound. The buoy of the Inchcape Bell was seen He felt the cheering power of spring, His eye was on the Inchcape float; The boat is lower'd, the boatmen row, And to the Inchcape Rock they go; Sir Ralph bent over from the boat, And he cut the bell from the Inchcape float. Down sank the bell, with a gurgling sound, The bubbles rose and burst around; Quoth Sir Ralph, "The next who comes to the Rock Won't bless the Abbot of Aberbrothok." Sir Ralph the Rover sail'd away, So thick a haze o'erspreads the sky On the deck the Rover takes his stand, For there is the dawn of the rising moon." CAROLINE BOWLES (MRS. SOUTHEY). 1786-1854. [MRS. SOUTHEY, a popular poetess, and wife of the Poet Laureate, was the only child of Captain Charles Bowles of Buchland, near Lymington. For more than twenty years her writings were published anonymously. Among the friends who had been attracted to her by her genius, were the poets Southey and Bowles, the former of whom became her husband in 1839. On his death, Mrs. Southey was given a pension of £200 a year. Her principal works are Ellen Fitz Arthur, 2 Poem; The Widow's Tale, and other poems; Solitary Hours, prose and verse; Chapters on Churchyards; Tales of the Factories; and Robin Hood, with other poems.] |