Chapter XXXVIII

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And the wild river, laughing, laves its banks--
A babbler--like a happy-hearted girl,
Dancing along with free and frolic pranks;
The leaves, o'erhanging, tremble like the curl
That plays upon her forehead as she goes--
While 'mid the branches, free from human woes,
The wild bird carols to its happy mate,
Glad in the present hour, nor anxious for its fate.