Now, from the shadow where I lie concealed,
I see the birds, late banished by my form,
Appearing once more in their usual haunts
Along the stream; the silver-breasted snipe
Twitters and seesaws on the pebbly spots
Bare in the channel—the brown swallow dips
Its wings, swift darting round on every side;
And from yon nook of clustered water-plants,
The wood-duck, slaking its rich purple neck,
Skims out, displaying through the liquid glass
Its yellow feet, as if upborne in air.
Musing upon my couch, this lovely stream
I liken to the truly good man's life,
Amid the heat of passions, and the glare
Of wordly objects, flowing pure and bright,
Shunning the gaze, yet showing where it glides
By its green blessings; cheered by happy thoughts,
Contentment, and the peace that comes from Heaven.
THE ALCHEMIST'S DAUGHTER.
A DRAMATIC SKETCH.
BY THOMAS BUCHANAN READ.
PERSONS REPRESENTED.
Giacomo, the Alchemist,