Tradition only points the place.

Rude is my hand, and rude my lay--
Rude as the Inn, time-worn and grey,
Where resting, on the mountain-way,
I heard the tale which I have tried
To tell to thee; and saw the wide
Deep rift--ten yards from side to side--
Great God! it was a fearful ride
The robber took that day.





THREE SUMMER STUDIES.


I.

The cock hath crow'd. I hear the doors unbarr'd;
Down to the moss-grown porch my way I take,
And hear, beside the well within the yard,
Full many an ancient, quacking, splashing drake,
And gabbling goose, and noisy brood-hen--all
Responding to yon strutting gobbler's call.

The dew is thick upon the velvet grass--
The porch-rails hold it in translucent drops,
And as the cattle from th' enclosure pass,