Sees his young streams run warbling at his side;
Though some, by art cut off, no longer run,
And some are lost beneath the summer's sun—
Yet the pure stream moves on, and, as it moves,
Its power increases and its use improves;
While plenty round its spacious waves bestow,
Still it flows on, and shall for ever flow.
NOTES TO THE VILLAGE.
[15] Note 1, page 125, lines 198 and 199.
And, when his age attempts its task in vain,