With sad yet solemn dreams my heart is stirred,
Like childhood when it hears the carol of a bird!
The mountains old and hoar—
The chainless winds—the streams so pure and free—
The God-enamelled flowers—
The waving forest—the eternal sea—
The eagle floating o’er the mountain’s brow—
Are teachers all; but oh! they are not such as thou!
Robert Nicoll.
To conquer hate,