INFLUENCE.

COUCHED in the rocky lap of hills,

The lake’ s blue waters gleam,

And thence in linked and measured rills

Down to the valley stream,

To rise again, led higher and higher,

And slake the city’ s hot desire.

High as the lake’ s bright ripples shine,

So high the water goes,

But not a drop that air-drawn line

Passes or overflows;

Though man may strive and man may woo,

The stream to its own law is true.

Vainly the lonely tarn its cup

Holds to the feeding skies;

Unless the source be lifted up,

The streamlet cannot rise:

By law inexorably blent,

Each is the other’ s measurement.

Ah, lonely tarn! ah, striving rill!

So yearn these souls of ours,

And beat with sad and urgent will

Against the unheeding powers.

In vain is longing, vain is force;

No stream goes higher than its source.