LINES Left upon a seat in a YEW-TREE, which stands near the Lake of ESTHWAITE, on a desolate part of the shore, yet commanding a beautiful prospeɛ. -Nay, Traveller! rest. This lonely yew-tree stands Who he was That piled these stones, and with the mossy sod With its dark arms to form a circling bower, I well remember.-He was one who owned No common soul. In youth by science nursed Of lofty hopes, he to the world went forth, Which genius did not hallow, 'gainst the taint But hung with fruit which no one, that passed by, And with the food of pride sustained his soul Fixing his downcast eye, he many an hour And lifting up his head, he then would gaze Would he forget those beings, to whose minds, The world, and man himself, appeared a scene What he must never feel and so, lost man! : On visionary views would fancy feed, Till his eye streamed with tears. In this deep vale He died, this seat his only monument. If thou be one whose heart the holy forms Of young imagination have kept pure, Stranger! henceforth be warned; and know, that pride, Howe'er disguised in its own majesty, Is littleness; that he, who feels contempt For any living thing, hath faculties Which he has never used; that thought with him Is ever on himself, doth look on one, The least of nature's works, one who might move Instructed that true knowiedge leads to love, Who, in the silent hour of inward thought, 1 THE FOSTER-MOTHER'S TALE. A Narration in Dramatic Blank Verse. But that entrance, Mother! FOSTER-MOTHER. Can no one hear? It is a perilous tale! No one. MARIA. FOSTER-MOTHER. My husband's father told it me, Poor old Leoni!-Angels rest his soul! He was a woodman, and could fell and saw With lusty arm. You know that huge round beam Which props the hanging wall of the old chapel ? |