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What crowd is this—what have we here? we must not
pass it by; A telescope upon its frame, and pointed to the sky; Long is it as a barber's pole, or mast of little boat, Some little pleasure-skiff that doth on Thames's waters float.
The showman chooses well his place, 'tis Leicester's busy
square ; And is as happy in his night, for the heavens are blue
and fair ; Calm, though impatient, is the crowd; each stands ready
with the fee, Impatient till his moment comes-what an insight must it
Yet, showman, where can lie the cause ? Shall thy imple
ment have blame, A boaster, that when he is tried, fails, and is put to shame? Or is it good as others are, and be their eyes in fault? Their eyes, or minds ? or, finally, is yon resplendent vault ?
Is nothing of that radiant pomp so good as we have here? Or gives a thing but small delight that never can be dear? The silver moon, with all her vales, and hills of mightiest
fame, Do they betray us when they're seen--or are they but a name?
-Or is it rather that conceit rapacious is and strong,
wrong? Or is it, that when human souls a journey long have had, And are returned into themselves, they cannot but be sad ?
Or must we be constrained to think that these spectators
rude, Poor in estate, of manners base, men of the multitude, Have souls which never yet have risen, and therefore pros
trate lie? No, no, this cannot be-men thirst for power and majesty!
Docs, then, a deep and earnest thought the blissful mind
employ Of him who gazes, or has gazed ? a grave and steady joy, That doth reject all show of pride, admits no outward sign, Because not of this noisy world, but silent and divine !
Whatever be the cause, 'tis sure that they who pry and pore Seem to meet with little gain, seem less happy than before. One after one they take their turn, nor have I one espied That doth not slackly go away, as if dissatisfied.
RESOLUTION AND INDEPENDENCE.
THERE was a roaring in the wind all night ;
The jay makes answer as the magpie chatters ; And all the air is filled with pleasant noise of waters.
All things that love the sun are out of doors;
Raises a mist; that, glittering in the sun,
I was a traveller then upon the moor:
My old remembrances went from me wholly ; And all the ways of men, so vain and melancholy !
But, as it sometimes chanceth, from the might
As high as we have mounted in delight
And fears and fancies thick upon me came ;
I heard the skylark singing in the sky ;
But there may come another day to me-
My whole life I have lived in pleasant thought
Build for him, sow for him, and at his call
I thought of Chatterton, the marvellous boy,
We poets in our youth begin in gladness;
Now, whether it were by peculiar grace,
Yet it belel, that in this lonely place,
I saw a man before me unawares :
My course I stopped as soon as I espied
To the pool's farther margin then I drew,
As a huge stone is sometimes seen to lie
Like a sea-beast crawled forth, which on a shelf Of rock or sand reposeth, there to sun itself;
Sucb seemed this man, not all alive nor dead,
Of sickness felt by him in times long past,
Himself he propped, his body, limbs, and face,