"There's beauty and love and truth and power,--
Cease well-a-day for the old, old days!
The humblest home is worth Greece and Rome,
By the flowing river of Aise.
"There are themes enough for the poet's strains,--
Leave well-a-day for the quaint old days!
Take thine eyes from the ground, look up and around
From the flowing river of Aise.
"To-day is as grand as the centuries past,--
Leave well-a-day for the famed old days!
There are battles to fight, there are troths to plight,
By the flowing river of Aise.
"There are hearts as true to love, to strive,--
No well-a-day for the dark old days!
Go put into type the age that is ripe
By the flowing river of Aise."
Then the merry Poet piped down the vale,--
"Farewell, farewell to the dead old days!
By day and by night there's music and light
By the flowing river of Aise."
* * * * *
THE ICEBERG OF TORBAY.
TORBAY.
Torbay, finely described in a recent novel by the Rev. R.T.S. Lowell,
is an arm of the sea, a short strong arm with a slim hand and finger,
reaching into the rocky land and touching the water-falls and rapids
of a pretty brook. Here is a little village, with Romish and
Protestant steeples, and the dwellings of fishermen, with the
universal appendages of fishing-houses, boats, and "flakes." One
seldom looks upon a hamlet so picturesque and wild. The rocks slope
steeply down to the wonderfully clear water.
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