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“ Think you, mid all this mighty sum
Of things for ever speaking,
“ That nothing of itself will come,
“ But we must still be seeking ?

-Then ask not wherefore, here, alone,

Conversing as I may, I sit upon

this old grey stone, “And dream my time away.


An EVENING SCENE, on the same Subje&t.

Up! up! my Friend, and clear your looks ;
Why all this toil and trouble ?
Up! up! my Friend, and quit your books,
Or surely you'll grow double. .

The sun, above the mountain's head,
A freshening lustre mellow
Through all the long green fields has spread,
His first sweet evening yellow.

Books ! 'tis a dull and endless strife :
Come, hear the woodland Linnet,
How sweet his music ; on my

life There's more of wisdom in it.

And hark! how blithe the Throstle sings !
And he is no mean preacher :
Come forth into the light of things,
Lot Nature be your teacher.

She has a world of ready wealth,
Our minds and hearts to bless-
Spontaneous wisdom breathed by health,
Truth breathed by chearfulness.

One impulse from a vernal wood
May teach you more of man ;
Of moral evil and of good,
Than all the sages can.

Sweet is the lore which nature brings ;
: Our meddling intellect
Mishapes the beauteous forms of things;
-We murder to dissect.

Enough of science and of art;
Close up these barren leaves ;
Come forth, and bring with you a heart
That watches and receives.



The little hedge-row birds That peck along the road, regard him not. He travels on, and in his face, his step, His gait, is one expression ; every limb, His look and bending figure, all bespeak A man who does not move with pain, but moves With thought.-He is insensibly subdued To settled quiet : he is one by whom All effort seems forgotten, one to whom Long patience has such mild composure given, That patience now doth seem a thing, of which He hath no need. He is by nature led

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