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“Why, William, on that old gray stone,
“ Where are your books ?-that light bequeath'd “ To beings else forlorn and blind ! “Up! up! and drink the spirit breath'd
" From dead men to their kind.
“ You look round on your mother earth, « As if she for no purpose bore you ; “ As if you were her first-born birth, “ And none had lived before
One morning thus, by Esthwaite lake,
“ The eye it cannot choose but see;
Against, or with our will.
« Nor less I deem that there are powers « Which of themselves our minds impress; " That we can feed this mind of ours “ In a wise passiveness.
“ Think you, mid all this mighty sum
"--Then ask'not wherefore, here, alone, “Conversing as I may, upon
this old gray stone, ~ And dream my
« I sit
THE TABLES TURNED;
An EVENING SCENE, on the same Subject.
Up! up! my Friend, and clear your looks;
The sun, above the mountain's head,
Books ! 'tis a dull and endless strife :
Come, hear the woodland Linnet,
And hark! how blithe the Throstle sings!
She has a world of ready wealth,
One impulse from a vernal wood