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2. These foldings up of daylight speak

Something to be done:
And voices all around us break

Of a parting sun.
Mortal, though around thy path
Death and sickness speak of wrath,
There are gleams of brighter proof
Mingling 'neath the solemn woof;
But yon pilgrim down Heaven's roof

To the grave hath run.

146.-THOUGHTS ON THE SEASONS.

[WILLIAM WORDSWORTH.] Flattered with promise of escape

From every hurtful blast, Spring takes, O sprightly May, thy shape,

Her loveliest and her last.

Less fair is Summer, riding high

In fierce solstitial power,
Less fair than when a lenient sky

Brings on her parting hour.
When earth repays with golden sheaves

The labours of the plough,
And ripening fruits and forest leaves

All brighten on the bough:

What pensive beauty Autumn shews,

Before she hears the sound
Of Winter rushing in to close

The emblematic round!

Such be our Spring; our Summer such;

So may our Autumn blend
With hoary Winter, and Life touch,

Through heaven-born Hope, her end.

147.-AUTUMN. [JOHN KEATS.]

1. Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness !

Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun; Conspiring with him how to load and bless

With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eaves To bend with apples the moss'd cottage trees, (run;

And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core; To swell the gourd; to plump the hazel shells

With a sweet kernel; to set budding more And still more, later flowers for the bees; Until they think warm days will never cease, For summer has o'er-brimmed their clammy cells.

2. Where are the songs of spring? Ay, where are they?

Think not of them. Thou hast thy music too, While floating clouds bloom the soft-dying day,

And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue;

Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn

Among the river sallows, borne aloft Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies, Or full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourne;

Hedge crickets sing; and now with treble soft

The red-breast whistles from a garden croft, And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.

148.-LINES WRITTEN IN EARLY SPRING.

[WILLIAM WORDSWORTH.]

1.
I heard a thousand blended notes,

While in the grove I sat reclined,
In that sweet mood when pleasant thoughts
Bring sad thoughts to the mind.

2.
To her fair works did Nature link

The human soul that through me ran;
And much it grieved my heart to think
What man has made of man.

3.
Through primrose tufts in that green bower

The Periwinkle trained its wreaths;
And 'tis my faith that every flower

Enjoys the air it breathes.

4.
The birds around me hopped and played;

Their thoughts I cannot measure
But the least motion which they made,
It seemed a thrill of pleasure.

5.
The budding twigs spread out their fan,

To catch the breezy air;
And I must think, do all I can,
That there was pleasure there.

6.
If this belief from Heaven be sent,

If such be Nature's holy plan,
Have I not reason to lament

What man has made of man?

149.-WINTER. (JAMES THOMPSON.] The keener tempests rise. Thick clouds ascend, And the sky saddens with the gathering storm. Through the hushed air the whitening shower de

scends, At first thin wavering, till at last the flakes Fall broad, and wide, and fast, dimming the day With a continual flow. The cherished fields Put on their winter robe of purest white; 'Tis whiteness all, save where the new snow melts Along the mazy streamlet.

streamlet. Low the woods

Bow their hoar heads: and ere the languid sun,
Faint, from the West emits his evening ray,
Earth’s universal face, deep hid, and chill,
Is one wide dazzling waste, that buries deep
The works of man. The birds, from the chill air,
Tamed by the cruel season, crowd around
The winnowing store, and claim the little boon
Which Providence assigns them. One alone
The Robin-leaves his nest, and pays to man
His annual visit. Half afraid, he first
Against the window beats: then brisk alights
On the warm hearth : then hopping o'er the floor,
Eyes all the smiling family askance,
And pecks, and starts, and wonders where he is :
Till, more familiar grown, the table-crumbs
Attract his slender feet.

150.- THE POET'S WISH.
[WILLIAM WORDSWORTH. From the “Excursion,” book ix.]

O, for the coming of that glorious time
When, prizing knowledge as her noblest wealth
And best protection, this imperial realm,
While she exacts allegiance, shall admit
An obligation, on her part, to teach
Those who are born to serve her and obey;
Binding herself by statute to secure
For all the children whom her soil maintains

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