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“ Why, William, on that old gray stone,
“ 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 bore you ; “ As if you were her first-born birth, “And none had lived before you!"
One morning thus, by Esthwaite lake,
“ The eye it cannot choose but see;
“ 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
"-Then ask'not wherefore, here, alone, “Conversing as I may, “ I sit upon this old gray stone, “ And dream my time away.”
THE TABLES TURNED;
An EVENING SCENE, on the same Subject.
Up! up! my Friend, and clear your looks;
The sun, above the mountain's head,
Books! 'tis a dull and endless strife :
And hark! how blithe the Throstle sings !
She has a world of ready wealth,
One impulse from a vernal wood