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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 “ And dream my time away."

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grey stone,



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, here 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,
Let 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;


these barren leaves; Come forth, and bring with you a beart That watches and receives,



The little bedge-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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