THE STREET MUSICIAN. 145 Mark that cripple !-but little would tempt him to try Now, coaches and chariots! roar on like a stream; R L WORDSWORTH. WHERE the little babbling streamlet Almost hid from sight: Vowed I with delight, "River, I will follow thee, Through thy wanderings, to the sea." DISCOURAGED. Gleaming 'mid the purple heather, Glancing through the mountain gorges Like a silver thread. As it quicker fled, Louder music in its flow, Dashing to the vale below. Then its voice grew lower, gentler, And its pace less fleet, Just as though it loved to linger As they stooped to meet Purple Willow-herb bent over Meadow-sweet, in feathery clusters, Perfumed all the air; Silver-weed was there, And, in one calm, grassy spot, Starry, blue Forget-me-not. Tangled weeds, below the waters, 147 |