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EVENING SCENE, on the same Subject.

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,
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 cheerfulness.

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
Misshapes 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 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 hath such mild composure given, That patience now doth seem a thing of which He hath no need. He is by nature led



To peace so perfect, that the young behold
With envy, what the Old Man hardly feels.
-I asked him whither he was bound, and what
The object of his journey : he replied
That he was going many miles to take
A last leave of his Son, a Mariner,
Who from a sea-fight had been brought to Fal-

And there was dying in an hospital.

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