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And through the wood-shelter,
Among crags in its flurry,
Helter skelter,

Hurry skurry.

Here it comes sparkling,
And there it lies darkling,
Now smoking and frothing,
Its tumult and wrath in,
Till in this rapid race
On which it is bent,
It reaches the place

Of its deep descent.
The cataract strong
Then plunges along,
Striking and raging,
As if a war waging,

Its caverns and rocks among.

Rising and leaping,

Sinking and creeping,
Swelling and sweeping,
Showering and springing,
Flying and flinging,
Writhing and ringing,

Eddying and whisking,

Spouting and frisking,

Turning and twisting,
Around and around,
With endless rebound;
Smiting and fighting,

A sight to delight in ;

Confounding, astounding,

Dizzing and deafening the car with its sound.

Collecting, projecting,

Receding and speeding,

And shocking and rocking,

And darting and parting,

And threading and spreading,

And whizzing and hissing
And dripping and skipping,
And hitting and splitting,
And shining and twining,

And rattling and battling,
And shaking and quaking,
And pouring and roaring,
And waving and raving,
And tossing and crossing,
And flowing and glowing,
And running and stunning,
And foaming and roaming,
And dinning and spinning,
And dropping and hopping,
And working and jerking,
And guggling and struggling,
And heaving and cleaving,
And moaning and groaning,
And glittering and frittering,
And gathering and feathering,
And whitening and brightening,
And quivering and shivering,
And hurrying and skurrying,
And thundering and floundering,
Dividing and gliding and sliding,
And falling and brawling and sprawling,
And driving and riving and striving,

And sprinkling and twinkling and wrinkling,
And sounding and bounding and rounding,
And bubbling and troubling and doubling,
And grumbling and rumbling and tumbling,

And clattering and battering and shattering,
Retreating and beating and meeting and sheeting,
Delaying and straying and playing and spraying,
Advancing and prancing and glancing and dancing,
Recoiling, turmoiling, and toiling and boiling,

And gleaming and streaming and steaming and beaming,
And rushing and flushing and brushing and gushing,
And flapping and rapping and clapping and slapping,
And curling and whirling and purling and twirling,
And thumping and plumping and bumping and jumping,
And dashing and flashing and splashing and clashing,
And so never ending, but always descending,
Sounds and motion for ever and ever are blending
All at once and all o'er, with a mighty uproar,
And this way the water comes down at Lodore.

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Count me the countless sands
Fringing the sea;
Even so often

My thought is with thee.

Mete me the arch

Of the blue bending sky,
Or the wide world of meaning
That orbs in thine eye!
Measure the gloomy caves
Under the sea!
Even so boundless

My love is for thee.




Kitty. Pray, mamma, may I leave off working? I am tired. Mamma. You have done very little, my dear; you know you were to finish all that hem.

K. But I had rather write now, mamma, or read, or get my French grammar.

M. I know very well what that means, Kitty: you had rather do anything than what I set you about.

K. No, mamma; but you know I can work very well already, and I have a great many more things to learn. There's Miss Rich, that cannot sew half so well as I, and she is learning music and drawing already, besides dancing, and I don't know how many other things. She tells me that they hardly work at all in their school.

M. Your tongue runs at a great rate, my dear; but in the first place you cannot sew very well, for if you could, you would not have been so long in doing this little piece. Then I hope you will allow, that mammas know better what is proper for their little girls to learn than they do themselves.

K. To be sure, mamma; but as I suppose I must learn all these things some time or other, I thought you would like to have me begin them soon, for I have often heard you say that children cannot be set too early about what is necessary for them to du.

M. That's very true, but all things are not equally necessary to

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