It seemd as if each thought and look And motion were that minute chaind Fast to the spot such root she took, Andlike a sunflower by a brook, With face upturndso still remaind! MooreLoves of the Angels. First Angels Story. L. 33.
I sit with my toes in a brook. And if any one axes forwhy? I hits them a rap with my crook, For tis sentiment does it, says I. Horace Walpole. See Cunninghams Walpole.