LINES Left upon a Seat in a YEW-TREE, which stands near the Lake of ESTHWAITE, on a desolate part of the shore, yet commanding a beautiful prospect. Nay, Traveller! rest. This lonely Yew-tree stands Who he was That piled these stones, and with the mossy sod First covered o'er, and taught this aged Tree With its dark arms to form a circling bower, I well remember.-He was one who owned No common soul. In youth by science nursed, Of lofty hopes, he to the world went forth Which genius did not hallow, 'gainst the taint All but neglect. The world, for so it thought, And with the food of pride sustained his soul An emblem of his own unfruitful life : When Nature had subdued him to herself, Would he forget those beings, to whose minds, Till his eye streamed with tears. vale In this deep He died, this seat his only monument. If Thou be one whose heart the holy forms Of young imagination have kept pure, Stranger! henceforth be warned; and know, that pride, Howe'er disguised in its own majesty, Is littleness; that he who feels contempt Which he has never used; that thought with him Is ever on himself doth look on one, The least of Nature's works, one who might move Instructed that true knowledge leads to love, Who, in the silent hour of inward thought, 3 THE FOSTER-MOTHER'S TALE. A Narration in Dramatic Blank Verse. But that entrance, Mother! FOSTER-MOTHER. Can no one hear? It is a perilous tale! MARIA. No one. FOSTER-MOTHER. My husband's father told it me, Poor old Leoni!-Angels rest his soul! He was a woodman, and could fell and saw |