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THE QUIET MIND.

BY JOHN CLARE.

Though low my lot, my wish is won,

My hopes are few and staid;
All I thought life would do, is done,

The last request is made:
If I have foes, no foes I fear;

To fate I live resign'd:
I have a friend I value here-

And that's a quiet mind.

I wish not it was mine to wear

Flushed honour's sunny crown:
I wish not I was fortune's heir,

She frowns, and let her frown:
I have no taste for pomp and strife,

Which others love to find :
I only wish the bliss of life

A pure and quiet mind.

The trumpet's taunt in battle field,

The great man's pedigreeWhat peace can all their honours yield,

And what are they to me? Though praise and pomp, to me the strife Rave like a mighty wind

What are they to the calın of life

A still and quiet mind ?

1 mourn not that my lot is low,

I wish no higher state;
I sigh not that fate made me so,

Nor tease her to be great :
I am content, for well I see,

What all at least shall find,
That life's worst lot the best shall boss
And that's a quiet mind.

I see the great pass heedless by,

And pride above me tower; It costs me not a single sigh

For either wealth or power :
They are but men, and I'm a man

Of quite as great a kind,
Proud too, that life gives all she can

A calm and quiet mind.

I never mock'd at beauty's shrine,

To stain her lips with lies; No knighthood's fame, or luck was mine,

To win love's richest prize :
And yet I found in russet weed,

What all wili wish to find.
True love, and comfort's prize indeed

A glad and quiet mind.

And come what will of care or wo,

As some must come to all,
I'll wish not that they were not so,

Nor mourn that they befall :
If tears for sorrows start at will,

They're comforts in their kind,
And I am blest, if with me still-

Remains a quiet mind.
When friends de part, as part they must,

And love's true joys decay,
That leave us like the summer's dust

The whirlwind puffs away ;
While life's allotted time I brave,

Though left the last behind,
A prop and friend I still shall have,

If I've a quiet mind.

O may I with myself agree,
And never covet what I see;
Content me with an humble shade,
My passions tam'd, my wishes laid;
For while our wishes wildly roll,
We banish quiet from the soul;
'Tis then the busy beat the air,
And misers gather wealth and care.

Dyer.

SUMMER IN THE HEART.

BY EPES SARGENT.

The cold blast at the casement beats,

The window-panes are white, The snow whirls through the empty streets

It is a dreary night! Sit down, old friend! the wine-cups wait;

Fill to o'erflowing! fill! Though winter howleth at the gate,

In our hearts 'tis summer still !

For we full many summer joys

And greenwood sports have shared, When, free and ever-roving boys,

The rocks, the streams we dared! And, as I look upon thy face

Back, back o'er years of ill, My heart flies to that happy place,

Where it is summer still!

Yes, though, like sere leaves on the ground,

Our early hopes are strown,
And cherished flowers lie dead around,

And singing birds are flown,-
The verdure is not faded quite,

Not mute all tones that thrill For, seeing, hearing thee to-night,

In my heart 'tis summer still!

Fill up! the olden times come back!

With light and life once more
We scan the future's sunny track,

From youth's enchanted shore !
The lost return. Through fields of bloom

We wander at our will;
Gone is the winter's angry gloom-

In our heart 'lis summer still!

AMBITION.

BY RICHARD LOVELACE.

How uncertain is the state

Of that greatness we adore ;

When ambitiously we soar,
And have ta'en the glorious height,

'Tis but ruin gilded o'er,
To enslave us to our fate;
Whose false delight is easier got than kept, -
Content ne'er on its gaudy pillow slept.
Then how fondly do we try,

With such superstitious care,

To build fabrics in the air;
Or seek safety in that sky,

Where no stars but meteors are
That portend a ruin nigh:
And having reach'd the object of our aim,
We find it but a pyramid of flame.

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