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“ Think you, mid all this mighty sum
-Then ask not wherefore, here, alone,
Conversing as I may, “I sit upon
this old grey stone, “And dream my time away.”
THE TABLES TURNED;
An EVENING SCENE, on the same Subje&t.
Up! up! my Friend, and clear your looks ;
The sun, above the mountain's head,
Books ! 'tis a dull and endless strife :
life There's more of wisdom in it.
And hark! how blithe the Throstle sings !
She has a world of ready wealth,
One impulse from a vernal wood
Sweet is the lore which nature brings ;
Enough of science and of art;
ANIMAL TRANQUILLITY and DECAY,
The little hedge-row birds That peck along the road, regard him not. He travels on, and in his face, his step, His gait, is one expression ; every limb, His look and bending figure, all bespeak A man who does not move with pain, but moves With thought.-He is insensibly subdued To settled quiet : he is one by whom All effort seems forgotten, one to whom Long patience has such mild composure given, That patience now doth seem a thing, of which He hath no need. He is by nature led