("O Soleil!") [Bk. Ii. Iv., Anniversary Of The Coup D''Tat, 1852.] O Sun! Thou Countenance Divine! Wild Flowers Of The Glen, Caves Swoll'N With Shadow, Where Sunshine Has Pierced Not, Far From Men; Ye Sacred Hills And Antique Rocks, Ye Oaks That Worsted Time, Ye Limpid Lakes Which Snow-Slide Shocks Hurl Up In Storms Sublime; And Sky Above, Unruflfed Blue, Chaste Rills That Alway Ran From Stainless Source A Course Still True, What Think Ye Of This Man?