"Hark, the bee winds her small but mellow horn, Blithe to salute the sunny smile of morn. O'er thymy downs she bends her busy course, And many a stream allures her to its source. 'Tis noon, 'tis night. That eye so finely wrought, Beyond the reach of sense, the soar of thought, Nor vainly asks the scenes she left behind: Its orb so full, its vision so confined! Who guides the patient pilgrim to her cell? Who bids her soul with conscious triumph swell? With conscious truth retrace the mazy clew Of summer scents, that charmed her as she flew? Hail, Memory, hail! thy universal reign Guards the least link of being's glorious chain."--_Rogers._ In the disciple the manner is reproduced, and yet modified as in these lines:-- "Auspicious Hope! in thy sweet garden grow Wreaths for each toil, a charm for every woe; Won by their sweets, in Nature's languid hour. The way-worn pilgrim seeks thy summer bower; There as the wild bee murmurs on the wing, What peaceful dreams thy handmaid spirits bring! What viewless forms th' Æolian organ play, And sweep the furrowed lines of conscious thought away." How the master and the scholar may be again recognized in the following passages:-- "So, when the mild TUPIA dared explore Arts yet untaught, and worlds unknown before; And with the sons of science wooed the gale, That rising, swelled their strange expanse of sail; So when he breathed his firm, yet fond adieu, Borne from his leafy hut, his carved canoe, And all his soul best loved, such tears he shed While each soft scene of summer beauty fled. Long o'er the wave a wistful look he cast, Long watched the streaming signal from the mast; Till twilight's dewy tints deceived his eye, And fairy forests fringed the evening sky."--_Rogers_. "And such thy strength-inspiring aid, that bore The hardy Byron to his native shore,-- In horrid climes where Chiloe's tempests sweep Tumultuous murmurs o'er the troubled deep, 'Twas his to mourn misfortune's rudest shock, Scourged by the winds, and cradled on the rock, To wake each joyless morn and search again The famished haunts of solitary men; Whose race, unyielding as their native storm, Know not a trace of nature but the form; Yet at thy call the hardy tar pursued, Pale, but intrepid, sad, but unsubdued; Pierced the deep woods, and hailing from afar The moon's pale planet, and the northern star; Paused at each dreary cry unheard before, Hyenas in the wild, and mermaids on the shore; Till led by thee o'er many a cliff sublime, He found a warmer world, a milder clime, A home to rest, or shelter to defend, Peace and repose, a Briton and a friend!"--_Campbell_. Into every form of expression the scholar follows his master:--