At last it leaves the busier world, and slowly and silently travels on; till, at the end, it enters the vast abyss of ocean, which seems spread out, like eternity, to receive it.
[13] Pliny.
Boy and Bird.
“Little bird, upon that tree,
Sing, I pray, a song to me;
Are you happy all day long,
Tell me, tell me, in your song?”
“I am happy, little boy,
To be free is all my joy;
In the shade, or in the sun,