'And here, on this delightful day, I cannot choose but think How oft, a vigorous man, I lay 'My eyes are dim with childish tears, For the same sound is in my ears 'Thus fares it still in our decay : And yet the wiser mind Mourns less for what Age takes away, "The blackbird amid leafy trees, The lark above the hill, Let loose their carols when they please, Are quiet when they will. 'With Nature never do they wage A happy youth, and their old age 'But we are press'd by heavy laws; And often, glad no more, We wear a face of joy, because We have been glad of yore. 'If there be one who need bemoan His kindred laid in earth, The household hearts that were his own, It is the man of mirth. 'My days, my friend, are almost gone, My life has been approved, And many love me; but by none Am I enough beloved.' 'Now both himself and me he wrongs, The man who thus complains! I live and sing my idle songs Upon these happy plains : Z 'And Matthew, for thy children dead I'll be a son to thee!' At this he grasp'd my hand and said, -We rose up from the fountain-side ; Of the green sheep-track did we glide; And ere we came to Leonard's rock About the crazy old church-clock, And the bewilder'd chimes. W. Wordsworth CCCXXXII THE RIVER OF LIFE The more we live, more brief appear The gladsome current of our youth, But as the care-worn cheek grows wan, And sorrow's shafts fly thicker, Ye Stars, that measure life to man, Why seem your courses quicker? When joys have lost their bloom and breath Why, as we reach the Falls of Death, It may be strange-yet who would change Heaven gives our years of fading strength And those of youth, a seeming length, T. Campbell CCCXXXIII THE HUMAN SEASONS Four Seasons fill the measure of the year; He has his Summer, when luxuriously His soul has in its Autumn, when his wings He has his Winter too of pale misfeature, CCCXXXIV A DIRGE Rough wind, that moanest loud P. B. Shelley CCCXXXV THRENOS O World! O Life! O Time! On whose last steps I climb, Trembling at that where I had stood before; Out of the day and night A joy has taken flight: Fresh spring, and summer, and winter hoar Move my faint heart with grief, but with delight No more-Oh, never more! P. B. Shelley CCCXXXVI THE TROSACHS There's not a nook within this solemn Pass, Taught by his summer spent, his autumn gone, Wither'd at eve. From scenes of art which chase That thought away, turn, and with watchful eyes Rocks, rivers, and smooth lakes more clear than glass Untouch'd, unbreathed upon :-Thrice happy quest, The pensive warbler of the ruddy breast W. Wordsworth CCCXXXVII My heart leaps up when I behold So was it when my life began, So be it when I shall grow old The Child is father of the Man : And I could wish my days to be Bound each to each by natural piety. IV. Wordsworth CCCXXXVIII ODE ON INTIMATIONS OF IMMORTALITY FROM RECOLLECTIONS OF EARLY CHILDHOOD There was a time when meadow, grove, and stream, To me did seem The glory and the freshness of a dream. By night or day, The things which I have seen I now can see no more. The rainbow comes and goes, And lovely is the rose ; The moon doth with delight Look round her when the heavens are bare ; Are beautiful and fair; The sunshine is a glorious birth; But yet I know, where'er I go, That there hath past away a glory from the earth. Now, while the birds thus sing a joyous song, And while the young lambs bound As to the tabor's sound, |