22 ADIEU TO BRITANNT.
Lit the beech-tops low down in the ditch of the Dun , Lit the service-trees high on it's crest ;
XVIL
But the walls of the Roman were shrunk
Into morsels of ruiïi around , And palace of Monarch and Minster of monk
Were effaced from the grass-covered ground.
XVIIL
Like bubbles in océan they melt ,
Oh Wilts , on thy long-roUing plain , And at last ; but the works of the hand of the Celt
And the sweetlîknd of Nature remain.
XIÏ.
Even so ; though portentous and strange
- With a rumour of troublesome sounds ,
On his iron way gliding , the Angel of Change Spread his dusky wings wide tiirough thy bounds, •
XX.
He will pass : there'll be grass on his track , And in vain the swart coal-seeker's hand
Shall search the dark void , while the stones of Camac And the word of the Bueton shall stand.
XXL
Farewell ; up the waves of the Rance , See , we stream back our pennon of smoke ;
Adieu , russet skirt of the gay robe of France , (L Rugged land of the granité and oak f i>
S. Ferguson.
