 | Poems |  |
1
ADDRESS TO A VIRGINIAN CREEPER;
OR THE PLEASURES OF MEMORY FROM ASSOCIATIONS WITH VISIBLE OBJECTS.
Paradise, and groves
Elysian. Fortunate fields—like those of old
Sought in the Atlantic main, why should they be
A history only of departed things,
Or a mere fiction of what never was?—
For the discerning intellect of man,
When wedded to this goodly universe
In love and holy passion, shall find these
A simple product of the common day.
Wordsworth's Excursion.
Elysian. Fortunate fields—like those of old
Sought in the Atlantic main, why should they be
A history only of departed things,
Or a mere fiction of what never was?—
For the discerning intellect of man,
When wedded to this goodly universe
In love and holy passion, shall find these
A simple product of the common day.
Wordsworth's Excursion.
1
Fair plant, I see thee with a yearning spirit,For thou remind'st me of another place;—
And this spot, though it cannot boast a merit
Beyond retirement's unobtrusive grace,
From thy pervading influence doth inherit
One feature, whence the curious mind may trace
A likeness 'twixt it, and a scene elysian,
Such as might bless some favoured poet's vision!
2
2
As mind of plastic mould we often view,Of swift mobility of temperament,
In opposite extremes its course pursue!—
Yet in this giddy whirl of sentiment
(Fine as the film, whose being the dropped dew
Alone revealed, its surface which besprent)
A vestige dwells, unseen of human eye
Inly betraying its identity.
3
In such mind, absent friends, and absent things,Having forgotten, as a hue, a scent,
A sound, may touch upon those finer strings
Which call these objects from their banishment;
So thou, fair plant, when towards thee mine eye flings
Its sudden glance (thought all things else prevent
Feelings, whence this scene might the past restore)
Canst call up visions dear to me of yore.
4
Oh, never say to him who has a heart;—Oh, never say to him who has a sense,
Imagination, of the joys which dart,
From unseen source, beneath thy influence;—
3
To waken that deep feeling and intense,
Whence is with curious speculation viewed
Similitude in dissimilitude;—
5
Oh, never say to these, that there can be,In this wide world, one vacant dwelling place:
A place, which he, who is with phantasy
Endowed, may not with richest treasures grace!—
Say not to him, who has of poesy
The lofty gift, that he's bereft of space
For soaring thought, since his allotted home,
Monotonous, forbids his eyes to roam.
6
No! In the eye that sees, the heart that feels,And in th' imagination which controuls
All forms, that is there which profusion steals
From what were penury to meagre souls!—
And add to this, that contrast oft reveals
A source of inspiration, and unrolls
Oft through the sense which a drear blank surrounds,
Glories which pass reality's scant bounds.
4
7
This is a sensuous age! We scarce can tellWhether most pitiful it is, and poor,
When wood, rocks, lakes, and mountains weave a spell
The heart to melt, the fancy to allure,
With blank indifference on the whole to dwell:—
Or not to know, that, when high thoughts obscure
Man's lower impulses, he well may scorn
The circumscribing sway of forms earth-born.
8
As there no time is, so there is no place,For him uplifted by imagination!—
He soars o'er all the little bounds of space:—
And his own world is of his own creation!—
'Tis poor to think, the noble mind to raise,
That need should be of objects of sensation:—
'Tis poor to think, that, e'en the prison's gloom,
Must be his mind's, since 'tis his body's tomb.
9
I thank thee, beauteous plant, because that thouRemindest me of far more gorgeous scene! —
5
To thee I raise,—(when, as from freshest green,
To delicate vermeil, and to crimson, now,
I see thee changing)—since the thought serene,—
(Inspired by thee, familiar to my glance),
Comes o'er my spirit, as with rapturous trance,
10
That thou a link art of a mighty chain!—A living presence art, a fiery tress,
Conspicuous to my sight, and dost a train
Of fair experience outwardly express!—
E'en as I still my former self retain!
Although I inly feel, that, not the less,
In some things I am changed, thou, like a thread
Of fairy woof, dost past to present wed!—
11
As in long voyage on the perilous ocean,Though not a trace on any side be seen
6
Of winds, waves, clouds, and darkening mists, between
The eye, and the mind's hope, perplex all notion;
Yet still the little loadstone, with serene,
And superintendant constancy, doth keep
Its delicate guidance o'er the yawning deep.
12
So in the tempest of life's blackest hours,Forms such as we have seen in happiest days,
Not by association's mystic powers,
Consolatory feelings only raise,
But oft from thence (mild as the scent of flowers
When on their dewy buds fall morn's first rays)
An intertwining with the days gone by
Pledges assurance of futurity.
13
These so recurring forms, from time to time,From place to place, thus opportunely met,—
Like beacons to the mariner;—in clime
Distant and perilous, like land-marks set;—
So, with a sense of what is real, chime
With all those yearnings which would not forget
7
Propitious herald of futurity.
14
Who has not felt in mental wretchedness;—Or when portentously disease has wrought
O'er all the being with so rude a stress,
That it has almost choked the stream of thought,—
Who, when some big calamity did press
On life's progressiveness, till it has brought
A sudden check to purpose;—that a toy,
Raised from the past, could blackest spells destroy?
15
Once by a conflict of deep suffering wrung,As by St. Patrick's awful lake I strayed;—
(E'en as the fatal robe Alcides flung
Around his form which poison did pervade,
So closely to his mighty members clung
That he to rend it off vain efforts made;
Thus was the pest of agony to me,
And so invincible its agency).
8
16
Once in such mood—the crisis of despair—I, from the chafing wave, a pebble chose;—
Exclaiming, “this I will preserve with care!—
“Since” (though the thought in me then strongly rose
That no alleviation whatsoe'er
Could ever balm my agonizing throes)
“Should I look on it in a future grief,
This grief surmounted, it might bring relief.”
17
This very thought seemed then like prophecy!—Who that has dared in deepest of despair
To act the part of hope,—who that, with eye
Internal, o'er a bridgeless gulph could rear
An edifice fantastic!—who, when dry,
Dead to the world, pledged, in that moment drear,
Himself to another in some fateful deed,
Whose doing seemed all credence to exceed;—
18
Such, and no other, can my meaning guess!'Tis in the pathless ether beacons rearing!
Giving a when, and where, to nothingness;
Through unessential vacancy careering;
9
What minds forswear unhoping and unfearing;
'Tis trying in the midst of inanition
To affect to will, when there is no volition.
19
It is in short—(can any words implyThe dim and dark suggestion)—'tis a deed
Whence we impersonate defyingly
Purposeless purposes; and since no heed
Of life we take, and deem it all a lie;
We stake the future,—(though to us indeed
There be no future)—our entire fate stake,
As we for chess-men did our fellows take.
20
A promise, in despair, seems hope's best theme;Our inner will reality alone
Retains;—like stepping stones across a stream,
So seem the acts by which we clench our own
With other's fates; the world a grave doth seem
And we like spectres of oblivion;
We wander up and down, as if we were
Shrunk to one thought of passionless despair.
10
21
I could, as then I thought, never know moreOf dim, foreboding, and foreclosing pain,
Than then I knew: yet were this anguish o'er,
And I should thus be visited again,
This little stone,—though hope's diminish'd lore—
To this were circumscribed—would breathe this strain—
“Despair, when first thou knewest this, was with thee!
“Thou hast since hoped. What has been, still may be!
22
This looking forward, then the little allOf hope that I had left, this dim and drear
Presentiment, that something might befall;
And that futurity of all but fear
Was not quite barren—if I such may call
Comfort—my only comfort did appear.—
Yet has that stone in after days of scath
Suggested many a haunting of meek faith.
23
So the elected Israelites of old,By God commanded, when they reached thy shore,
11
Stones of memorial on their shoulders bore.
These were to be, as future ages rolled,
To distant generations evermore
A sign, whence they the hallowed spot might mark,
Where Jordan's waves retreated from the ark.
24
Thus, as a symbol of past gone despairO'ercome, in present sorrow may avail;
Or to the mind suggestions may repair
Of wisdom thence, when carnal joys assail:—
So may a symbol of past joy declare
Tidings of hope, when hope's resources fail;
So by a symbol of past pleasure fled,
May we in pleasure be admonished.
25
But this is foreign to my theme! The thoughtInspiring it was of that feeling dim
Which every soul possesses, when by aught
It is impressed, which seems as 'twere to trim
The lamp of life afresh, since it hath caught
(As from the live coal which the Seraphim
On th' altar placed, Isaiah caught his function)
From its discovery a vital unction.
12
26
Whence is it that the meanest forms we hallow,Of utensils, for daily life designed?—
Whence is it that all men, save those who wallow
In sensual brutishness, and unrefined
Grovelling indulgences, in a dim halo
Of sacred radiance see those shapes enshrined
Which speak of other days, and friends long dead?—
Whence, but from feeling, is such reverence fed,
27
That they the present with the past connect?—So much these instincts in some hearts preside,
That forms which cannot by their aid be decked,
Whate'er their worth, whate'er their costly pride,
From them can challenge nothing but neglect:
Yet, on the other hand, have they descried
The meanest utensil a parent used,
With what intense delight is it perused!—
28
Some see in forms little to challenge praise,Save as they're mute interpreters of love:
Thence many, without doubt, may wildly raise
A superstitious structure, which would prove
13
Was thus allured, they never would remove
Their thoughts to abstract themes:—such influences,
Changed Christ's pure laws to purveyors for the senses.
29
But still subordinate to nobler things,Just in proportion will such instinct dwell
In souls, as they possess that power which flings
O'er lifeless forms a consecrating spell!—
Without the fire, which, from such instinct springs,
Like seedless husk, and unallotted shell
Were all life's objects! What were scents, forms, hues,
Did moral feeling not her aid infuse?
30
The more, in all respects, mere form is mergedIn moral feeling, more is spiritualized
14
Less are they likely to be idolized
By physical attachment, more enlarged
Will they from “th' entire point” be enfranchised:
The more we love form's accidents, the less
On their base bullion shall we lay a stress.
31
We say the finest soul (but mind we sayThis only when nought else doth interfere
Of higher pressure) will the most array
Mute forms with an ideal atmosphere,
Which gives them to the heart a moral sway!—
There are we know of stoic mood severe,
Who superstitious such devotion deem!—
The muse is not for them whate'er her theme!
32
This is a natural instinct. Homer readOr Virgil; how do they with care describe
The helmet, shield, or trappings of the steed
Belonging to the chief of each bold tribe?
15
What elocution did the chiefs imbibe,—
Convened to award the arms,—from that fine strain,
Whence Ithacus, Pelides' arms did gain!
33
Is there a goblet, or a tripod named,Is there a belt, a dart, or quiver sung,
Nor him by whom 'twas given, first proclaimed?
Rather such sanctity in those times clung
To these mute symbols, and so much inflamed
Were their rude honest hearts when records rung
In old traditionary tales of these;—
Their bards immortalized their blazonries.
34
Achilles' shield, who does not recollect?The sceptre of Atrides not recall?—
Who can, without a secret awe, reflect
On Hector's arms, those arms, which, near the wall
16
The brave Orlando, till, love's wretched thrall,
His sense forsook him; and which did in vain
Defend the Paynim by Rogero slain.
35
Ah, who would wish to be the man that could—To modernize his ancestral demesne,
To introduce that gorgeous brotherhood
Of trees, lawn, water, in his household scene
Which modern taste demands,—where erst there stood
An ancient vista, venerable skreen
To his forefather's mansion,—level all,
Oak, ash, and elm, and triumph in their fall?
36
'Tis fitting to consult what is good tasteWhen you original creator are
Of household scenery: then may well be placed
Forms in the abstract which are deemed most fair,
17
With aught that brings imagination there,
Fraught with the feeling of the mighty past,
And mightier dead;—and who has this displaced?
37
Not all the ideal charms of Arcady,Not Tempe's vale, nor fam'd Sicilian bowers,
Though by a wish they all could thither hie,
Could e'er atone for outrage to those powers
Of ancient feeling, and sublimity,
Which he hath chased away! Exotic flowers
Never can captivate that awful spirit
Which did his thick tressed ivy bowers inherit.
38
Oh, whither hast thou led me, beauteous plant?—Yet lead me where thou wilt, I will go on!—
My bounding heart receives, with grateful pant,
The smallest touch of inspiration,
From forms, e'en animation though they want!—
Though still more warmly it perhaps might own
A higher influence: I've elsewhere decreed,
“ Be the muse followed wheresoe'er she lead!”
18
39
And still I say it. Gorgeous plant and fair,My theme began with pointing out thy praise,
Not only for thy beauty which so rare
Is, that it well a grateful song might raise;
But, for the power thou hast,—on charms that were
By me enjoyed,—again to make me gaze.
And then, I liken'd thee in this my theme,
In a dark path, to still recurring gleam.
40
I said, how sweet it is “from time to time,”Amid th' oblivious gulph that us surrounds,
To see past forms reviving: when sublime
In joy we are, how those of grief redound
To our monition; and when being's prime
Is whelmed in woe, from woes which have been crowned
In their surcease, with comfort, to extract
Hope, which the present woe might counteract.
41
I have proceeded to commemorateThat lovely reconciling principle
19
A moral character,—that curious skill
Which objects or from age doth consecrate,
Or from the fact that they are symbols still
Of hoar antiquity, and friends lov'd well!—
Now, to this added, of them will I tell
42
How much more lov'd are they when they combineThoughts of the past, or of great deeds of old,
Or of departed friends, and also shrine
Our youthful recollections in their cold,
And hallowed blazonries? Who would not pine
To see some heir-loom, which of past times told—
Since of unwieldy size, or cumb'rous, 'twere,—
Changed for some modern gew-gaw's tinsel glare?
43
Who does not recollect the glad exclaimMade by Geneva's sage, when he beheld
The Periwinkle, just the very same
With that of which in youth he was compelled
20
Then he first learned, nor since in croft or field
Had he surveyed its glossy leaves, and blue,
Meek blossom,—till again seen at Belle Vue?
44
Who can forget how eloquently he,Rousseau, doth that same local feeling paint,—
A feeling, with as strict identity
Fettered, imperiously, with dim restraint,
21
Derive our selfhood to one person:—faint,
After his words, would seem another's speech;
Their philologic height he could not reach.
45
Saith he not that from some peculiar spot,Where he had known peculiar happiness,
Though years had o'er him rolled, which well might blot
This from his memory quite, a curious stress
Of circumstantial features not forgot,
In after times would often re-possess
His entire being so, that every sense,
Drank, as he still were there, its influence?—
46
Saith he not, that the very scent revived—That faintest of the intimations, whence
We absent objects body forth—which lived
Within its boundaries; that with eloquence
Passing all speech, not like to a derived,
But liker an original impress, thence
The being of the place came o'er again,
With force defying e'en his graphic pen?
22
47
And does not that Colossus of our land,The solemn Johnson, and in later days
The Apostle of the Methodists, demand
Attention, as the first of these delays
His pompous narrative, while with a bland,
Yet yearning retrospection, he surveys
The well known post, o'er which, of doublet stripped,
He leaped again; as he in youth had leaped.
48
The other, with a deeper feeling, straysIn that same church-yard, where he, when a youth
Had often strayed; on that same spot did gaze,
From whose plain pulpit, the pure voice of truth
His ears drank in, when virtue's pleasant ways,
Appeared more pleasant in a parent's mouth.
He cries, “How time, year after year, bereaves
The earth of sons, as forests of their leaves.”
23
49
When formerly on Cantabrigia's bleak,Monotonous, and level plain, I dwelt,
If on my sight acclivity did break,
Though such as almost from my gaze did melt,
Especially if on its chalky peak
Black clump of firs lower'd in a gloomy belt,
How did my heart leap with a feeling strange,
And instantly its thoughts to Cumbria range!
50
There had I seen the everlasting hills!And there my constant love was ever fixed.
Thither when twilight its soft haze distils
Would my thoughts fly, when with the distance mix'd
Some little eminence my bosom thrills!
Yes, when, from Barnwell, then my home, betwixt
Th' horizon, and the nearer plain, I kenn'd
Those fir-clad heights, heights loftier far ascend
24
51
Before my vision! Thus one little pointOf similarity betwixt a scene
We now inhabit, and a scene disjoint
By many a tedious league, will with such keen,
And efficacious agency, anoint
The inward eye, that forms which intervene
Will fade away, and from one small source thence,
Pageants will rise of vast magnificence!
52
Whence is it that I—more than e'en I mayAccount for from their own intrinsic worth—
Love birds and gardens, though in each the play
Of nature's gladdening hand hath called to birth
The beautiful and graceful? When a day
Had more importance, than—in the drear dearth
Of middle life—that which long years possess,
I lov'd them!—Thence my present tenderness!
53
Can I a flower behold, nor call to mindHow in my youthful garden plot I loved
The self-same flower? How first its seed consigned
To earth? and what an exstacy I proved
25
'Twas at first visible? Scarce could be moved
A mother's bosom more, when she surveyed
Her darling's growth, than I, when aught betrayed
54
In this plant's progress to maturityAnother stage! than did mine eyes devour
Its coyly swelling buds, and—ecstacy
Beyond all this!—its first consummate flower!—
Scarce could a mother see with gladder eye
Of puny nursling the recovered power
After long ailing, then in drouthy tide,
Drinking the shower, its glossy leaves I spied.
55
So with my little cagelings! What a burstOf joy was mine, when, as the well-earned boon
Had for some feather'd songster been disbursed,
I heard it first carol its merry tune!—
Still in my heart so jealously is nursed
My youthful feelings, that, beneath the moon
Nought is, whence greater joy I still can prove
Than from these objects of my early love.
26
56
Thus may, in time, from sweet association,And watching carefully our trains of thought
As with aught coupled which excites sensation;
The mind to such a temperament be brought
That all we see speaks to imagination
A living hieroglyphic language, wrought
So finely in each object of each sense
That speechless nature may have eloquence.
57
To him, when he beholds the opening rose,Who can, by its means, every summer day
Recall, when he had watched its buds disclose;
Who can recall each love-pervaded lay
That it has wakened; every fair one knows
On whose white bosom he has seen morn's ray
Illume its dewy pearls, say, when he views
The faint spring nurse it, must he not then muse
58
With a far deeper feeling of delight,Than he can do, who only sees its bloom?
Who has no skill, from its most exquisite
Display of loveliness, t' unseal the tomb
27
Be charmed, dreams not, that in its soft perfume
There is a spiritual incense, which imparts
Melodious sweetness to poetic hearts?
59
Yes, to a soul rich in imagination,Th' appliances to each particular sense
Are intertwined in such rich combination,
That each evolves the other's influence!—
Thus hues well blended waken the sensation
Derived from melody;—and sounds intense,
And sweet, bring portraitures to gifted eyes!
Thus strike one sense, and all will harmonize!
60
Thus delicate perfumes will steal withinThe very soul, and be like music there!—
E'en lower senses, taste, and touch begin,
By such a process, to acquire a rare,
And unknown comprehensiveness! 'Twere sin
When of his cream, dates, cheese, and yellow pear,
The Mantuan poet sings should one demur
That each of these has moral character.
28
61
Dreams of simplicity and purity,At once they raise: perhaps a further aim
There may in these be couched: one, whose decree
Was ne'er neglected, where neglect was shame,
Has said that there is an affinity
Between man's regimen, and moral frame,
Thus as mild natures love a simple food,
A pungent diet pleases natures rude.
62
But I would say to him who is well versedIn th' hieroglyphic language of the heart,
Nothing can be indifferent, so that nursed,
By it may be or not the thinking part.
The simplest meal where milk doth 'suage the thirst,
And eggs, and herbs, the appetite, with art
May be arranged so—witness many a theme—
As fitly to adorn the poet's dream.
63
I ask of him, who has of Milton's hairThat well sung lock; I ask of every one,
29
Which has been hallowed to Fame's eldest son;
I ask of every pilgrim, who would spare
His last, last mite, some relic to have won;
I challenge these, to prove, in human hearts,
How deep the feeling is, which love imparts
64
T' inanimate objects when they're consecrateBy holy recollections! when their forms,
With ready instinct, we associate
With fame that lifts us, or with love that warms:
This is a fickle age, and soon, or late,
We shall feel shame for these pestiferous swarms
Of theories, which would, with vain pretence,
Bring desecration to the things of sense!
65
My song is ended! Beauteous Plant, once moreTo thee I turn; and thank thee, that, by mean
Of thee, I have been able to restore
A transient glimpse of a long parted scene!
Further, I thank thee, since fate had in store,
Through thy kind mediation, that I've been
The muse's inmate, and have gained, from her,
A sequestration from the world's vain stir.
See the description of the Author's residence in the North of England, in the third book of “Desultory Thoughts in London;” particularly that part of it where the parasitical plants are mentioned with which it was embowered.,
See motto (from Rosseau's Confessions) to “Desultory Thoughts in London,” and stanza 39, p. 62, of the Poem on the Language and Subjects most fit for Poetry.
A residence which the Author possessed near the Lake of Winandermere: for a description of which see “Desultory Thoughts in London,” third book, p. 129, stanza 23, beginning “I had a cottage in a paradise.” His dwelling on this spot was overgrown with the plant here celebrated.
To the leaves of the Virginia Creeper may be well applied the lines of Mr. Coleridge— “The hanging woods which, touched by autumn, seem As they were blossoming hues of fire and gold,” as in the decline of the year, they are of the richest crimson, orange, and yellow.
Ulswater. In the vale at the head of Ulswater, there is a well which was formerly dedicated to St. Patrick, whence, the Author believes, this vale is called Patterdale, a corruption of Patrick's dale.— Cumberland, the Poet, styles Ulswater “Imperial Lake of Patrick's dale.”
It need be scarcely here said, that in these lines we refer to the Roman Catholic rites; in which, by means of pictures, statues, censers, perfumes, music, and architectural ornament, there is an attempt made as it were to excite the feelings through the iustrumentality of sensuous symbols—in which, truths the most abs'ract, are, as it were, embodied, and the very mysteries of religion typified by means of physical hieroglyphics.—This religion certainly tends to the consecration of sensible objects, but to secure this end, does it not lower the sublimity of immaterial ones?
Love is not love, When it is mingled with regards that stand Aloof from th'entire point. Shakspeare.
The Author is quite aware that the orations in Ovid to which he refers are fictitious, but they have in them all that is necessary to poetical truth, as nothing is expressed in them which might not have flowed from the lips of the characters to whom they are imputed.
The arms of Hector are said, by Ariosto, to have descended to Orlando. He threw them from him in a fit of insanity. Zerbino found them, and hung them, as a trophy, on the branches of a tree. Mandricardo seized them, and while wearing them was slain by Rogero.
Je donnerai de ces souvenirs un seul exemple, qui pourra faire juger de leur force, et de leur verite. Le premier jour que nous allames aux Charmettes, Maman 'etoit en chaise a porteurs, et je la suivois a pied. Le chemin monte; elle etoit assez pesante, et craignant de trop fatiguer sesporteurs, elle voulut descendre a peu pres a moitie chemin, pour faire le reste a pied. En marchant, elle vit quelque chose de bleu dans la haie, & me dit, “voila de la pervenche encore en fleur.” Je n'avois jamais vu de la pervenche; je ne me baissai pas pour l' examiner: et j'ai la vue trop courte pour distinguer a terre les plantes de ma hauteur. Je jettois seulement en passant un coup d'oeil sur celle la, et pres de trente ans se sont passes sans que j'aie revu de la pervenche, ou que j'y aie fait attention. En 1764 etant a Cressier avec mon ami M. du Peyron, nous montions une petite montagne, au sommet de laquelle il y a un joli salon qu' il appelle avec raison Belle-vue Je commencois alors d'herboriser un peu. En montant, et regardant parmi les buissons, je pousse un cri de joie “ah, voila de la pervenche!” Et c'en etoit en effet. Du Peyron s'appercut du transport, mais il en ignorait la cause; ill'apprendra, je l'espere, lors qu'un jour il lira ceci. Le lecteur peut juger, par l'impression d'un si petit objet, du celle qne m'ont fait tous ceux qui se rapportent a la meme epoque.—Les Confessions de Rousseau, tome 2de. page 102.
Dans les situations diverses ou je me suis trouve, quelques uns ont ete marques par un tele sentiment de bien etre, qu'en les rememorant j'en suis affecte comme si j'y etois encore. Non seulement je me rappelle les temps, les lieux, les personnes, mais toutes objets environnant, la temperature de l'air, son odeur, sa couleur, une certaine impression locale, qui ne s'est fait sentir que la, et dont le souvenir vif m'y transporte de nouveau.—Les Confessions de Rousseau, tome lere. page 228.
The Author cannot exactly cite the place in which this anecdote is related of Johnson, but he has the most perfect recollection of having met with it in an account of him by one of his biographers. The circumstance took place near the city of Lichfield, the place of his birth.
The days of his childhood returned upon him (Wesley) when he visited Epworth; and taking a solitary walk in the church-yard of that place, he says, “I felt the truth of ‘one generation goeth, and another cometh.’ See how the earth drops its inhabitants, as the tree drops its leaves.”—Southey's Life of Wesley, 2d vol. page 518.
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