works appearing less,
It must attract us by its littleness.

XXIX.

'Tis small; but, like the cloud that servant saw
Whose master bade him look for rain, it grows
To greater bulk; for hence the streamlets draw
Their first supplies; and each one onward flows,
With speed increasing, down the mountain side,
And rolls, a river, in the ocean tide.

XXX.

So great from little things evolve; and as
Man looks upon this tarn and cannot see
The mighty river flowing hence, but has
To hear report of its immensity;
So faith should teach him patiently to wait
While little things of life lead on to great.

XXXI.

But I must leave ye now; I cannot stay,
Great mountains, in your midst. Regretfully
Must I be borne upon my Westward way,
And leave ye far behind me. Yet, should ye
No more delight my eye, it cannot be
That I shall e'er forget your majesty.

XXXII.

A quiet voice within me whispering,
Advises me to tarry not, nor spend
Unneedful hours in westward travelling;
For peace awaits me at my journey's end.
Alas! 'tis but the mountain solitude
That thus has calmed and soothed my weary mood.

XXXIII.

I would it _were_ a voice intuitive
To say that all my suffering should be
Now swept away; that henceforth I should live
In peace and quiet happiness; that she
Whose love alone can shine upon my life
With healing light, could be my loving wife.

XXXIV.

Ah no! It cannot be. Such happiness
Is not for me. Yet will I haste me on
As best I may. Kind fortune yet may bless
The man on whom her smile has never shone.
No more I'll linger here, no more delay
My steps, but haste with speedy gait away.

XXXV.

With rapid flight I pass the mountains through,
Nor pause to rest upon my hurried way
Till, like a picture, burst upon my view
The unsung beauties of Vancouver's Bay.
Nor here I pause, and, onward speeding fast,
Victoria appears in view at last.

XXXVI.

Here Nature's gifts, all lavishly displayed,
Make this a spot most fair and beautiful.
Utopia's scene could here be fitly laid.
These wooded heights, these straits so clear and cool,
The distant mountain's--In the poet's eyes
What, more than this, could be earth's Paradise?

XXXVII.

But beauties physical cannot combine
Alone to make an earthly Paradise;
But where the lamps of Love most brightly shine,
There, there the happiness of Heaven lies,
And bitter hatred, by its cursed spell,
Will make a v