[Footnote A:  “Mr. Cottle, Amos or Joseph, I don’t know which, but one or both, once sellers of books they did not write, but now writers of books that do not sell, have published a pair of epics.”—­THE AUTHOR.]

NATURE.

                         The fall of kings,
  The rage of nations, and the crush of states,
  Move not the man, who, from the world escaped,
  In still retreats and flowery solitudes,
  To nature’s voice attends, from month to month,
  And day to day, through the revolving year.
The Seasons:  Autumn.  J. THOMSON.

                    When that the monthe of May
  Is comen, and that I hear the foules synge,
  And that the floures gynnen for to sprynge,
  Farwel my boke, and my devocion.
Legende of Goode Women:  Prologue.  CHAUCER.

  To one who has been long in city pent,
  ’Tis very sweet to look into the fair
  And open face of heaven,—­to breathe a prayer
  Full in the smile of the blue firmament.
Sonnet XIV.  KEATS.

  What more felicitie can fall to creature. 
  Than to enjoy delight with libertie,
  And to be lord of all the workes of Nature,
  To raine in th’ aire from earth to highest skie,
  To feed on flowres and weeds of glorious feature!
The Fate of the Butterfly.  E. SPENSER.

  Warms in the sun, refreshes in the breeze,
  Glows in the stars, and blossoms in the trees.
Essay on Man, Epistle I.  A. POPE.

  In such green palaces the first kings reigned,
  Slept in their shades, and angels entertained;
  With such old counsellors they did advise,
  And by frequenting sacred groves grew wise.
On St. James’ Park.  E. WALLER

And recognizes ever and anon
The breeze of Nature stirring in his soul.
The Excursion, Bk.  IV.  W. WORDSWORTH.

Nature! great parent! whose unceasing hand
Rolls round the seasons of the changeful year;
How mighty, how majestic are thy works!
The Seasons:  Winter.  J. THOMSON.

                     Every sound is sweet;
  Myriads of rivulets hurrying through the lawn,
  The moan of doves in immemorial elms,
  And murmuring of innumerable bees.
The Princess, Canto VII.  A. TENNYSON.

I trust in Nature for the stable laws
Of beauty and utility.  Spring shall plant
And Autumn garner to the end of time. 
I trust in God—­the right shall he the right
And other than the wrong, while he endures;
I trust in my own soul, that can perceive
The outward and the inward, Nature’s good
And God’s.
A Soul Tragedy, Act i.  R. BROWNING.

I care not, Fortune, what you me deny;
You cannot rob me of free Nature’s grace,
You cannot shut the windows of the sky,
Through which Aurora shows her brightening face;
You cannot bar my constant feet to trace
The woods and lawns, by living stream, at eve.
The Castle of Indolence, Canto II.  J. THOMSON.