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Why, William, on that old gray stone,
“ Thus for the length of half a day,
“Why, William, sit you thus alone,
« And dream your



“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


you; As if you were her first-born birth, “ And none had lived before you!"

One morning thus, by Esthwaite lake,
When life was sweet, I knew not why,
To me my good friend Matthew spake,
And thus I made reply :


eye it cannot choose but see; “ We cannot bid the ear be still ; « Our bodies feel, where'er they be, “ 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
“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 gray stone, “ And dream





An 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,

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