Thracian colt, why at me
     Looking aslant with thy eyes,
     Dost thou cruelly flee,
     And think that I know nothing wise? 
     Know I could well
     Put the bridle on thee,
     And holding the reins, turn
     Round the bounds of the course. 
     But now thou browsest the meads,
     And gambolling lightly dost play,
     For thou hast no skilful horseman
     Mounted upon thy back.

     CUPID WOUNDED.

     Love once among roses
     Saw not
     A sleeping bee, but was stung;
     And being wounded in the finger
     Of his hand, cried for pain. 
     Running as well as flying
     To the beautiful Venus,
     I am killed, mother, said he,
     I am killed, and I die. 
     A little serpent has stung me,
     Winged, which they call
     A bee,—­the husbandmen. 
     And she said, If the sting
     Of a bee afflicts you,
     How, think you, are they afflicted,
     Love, whom you smite?

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Late in the afternoon, for we had lingered long on the island, we raised our sail for the first time, and for a short hour the southwest wind was our ally; but it did not please Heaven to abet us along.  With one sail raised we swept slowly up the eastern side of the stream, steering clear of the rocks, while, from the top of a hill which formed the opposite bank, some lumberers were rolling down timber to be rafted down the stream.  We could see their axes and levers gleaming in the sun, and the logs came down with a dust and a rumbling sound, which was reverberated through the woods beyond us on our side, like the roar of artillery.  But Zephyr soon took us out of sight and hearing of this commerce.  Having passed Read’s Ferry, and another island called McGaw’s Island, we reached some rapids called Moore’s Falls, and entered on “that section of the river, nine miles in extent, converted, by law, into the Union Canal, comprehending in that space six distinct falls; at each of which, and at several intermediate places, work has been done.”  After passing Moore’s Falls by means of locks, we again had recourse to our oars, and went merrily on our way, driving the small sandpiper from rock to rock before us, and sometimes rowing near enough to a cottage on the bank, though they were few and far between, to see the sunflowers, and the seed vessels of the poppy, like small goblets filled with the water of Lethe, before the door, but without disturbing the sluggish household behind.  Thus we held on, sailing or dipping our way along with the paddle up this broad river, smooth and placid, flowing over concealed rocks, where we could see the pickerel lying low in the transparent water, eager to double some distant cape, to make some great bend as in the life of man, and see what new perspective would open; looking far into a new country, broad and serene, the cottages of settlers seen afar for the first time, yet with the moss of