Of ancient Jordan; when across the Nile
Cæsar swam (hardly, doubtless, through the mud,)
Yet kept his Commentaries dry the while,
This little Kuhbach, like Siloa’s rill,
Or Tiber’s Tide, assiduous and serene,
Ev’n then, the same as now, was murmuring still
Across the wilderness, unnamed, unseen.
Art’s but a mushroom—only Nature’s old;
In yon grey crag six thousand years behold!
From the same chapter of the same book we venture one more extract. It is where the Professor is full of grief and reminiscences; where, reflecting on his first experience of wo in the death of Father Andreas, he becomes once more spirit-clad in quite inexpressible melancholy, and says, ‘I have now pitched my tent under a cypress-tree,’ etc.: