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And from the blessed power that rolls
About, below, above,
We'll frame the measure of our souls:
They shall be tuned to love.
Then come, my
Sister ! come,
pray, With speed put on your woodland dress ;
- And bring no book : for this one day We'll give to idleness.
WHO HAD BEEN REPROACHED FOR TAKING LONG WALKS IN THE
DEAR Child of Nature, let them rail !
There is a nest in a green dale,
A harbour and a hold,
Where thou, a Wife and Friend, shalt see
Thy own delightful days, and be
A light to young and old.
There, healthy as a Shepherd-boy,
And treading among flowers of joy,
That at no season fade,
Thou, while thy Babes around thee cling,
Shalt shew us how divine a thing
A Woman may be made.
Thy thoughts and feelings shall not die,
Nor leave thee when grey-hairs are nigh
A melancholy slave;
But an old age serene and bright,
And lovely as a Lapland night,
Shall lead thee to thy grave.
I HEARD a thousand blended notes,
While in a grove I sate reclined,
In that sweet mood when pleasant thoughts
Bring sad thoughts to the mind.
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.
Through primrose tufts, in that sweet bower,
The periwinkle trailed its wreaths;
flower Enjoys the air it breathes.
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.
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.
From Heaven if this belief be sent,
If such be Nature's holy plan,
Have I not reason to lament
What man has made of man ?
WITH AN INCIDENT IN WHICH HE WAS CONCERNED.
In the sweet shire of Cardigan,
Not far from pleasant Ivor-hall,
An Old Man dwells, a little man,
'Tis said he once was tall.
Full five-and-thirty years he lived
A running Huntsman merry ;
And still the centre of his cheek
Is blooming as a cherry.
Worn out by hunting feats-bereft
By time of friends and kindred, see!
Old Simon to the world is left
In liveried poverty.
His Master's dead, - and no one now
Dwells in the Hall of Ivor ;
Men, dogs, and horses, all are dead ;
He is the sole survivor.