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"Nor less I deem that there are Powers Which of themselves our minds impress;
That we can feel this mind of ours
"Think you, 'mid all this mighty sum
Of things for ever speaking, That nothing of itself will come,
But we must still be seeking?
"Then ask not wherefore, here, alone,
Conversing as I may,
And dream my time away."
THE TABLES TURNED. —Wordsworth.
AN EVENING SCENE ON THE SAME SUBJECT.
Up! up! my friend, and quit your books;
Or surely you '11 grow double: Up! up! my friend, and clear your looks;
Why all this toil and trouble?
The sun, above the mountain's head,
A freshening lustre mellow Through all the long green fields has spread,
His first sweet evening yellow.
Books! 'tis a dull and endless strife:
How sweet his music! on my life,
And hark! how blithe the throstle sings!
He, too, is no mean preacher:
Let Nature be your teacher.
She has a world of ready wealth,
Spontaneous wisdom breathed by healtli3
One impulse from a vernal wood
Of moral evil and of good,
Sweet is the lore which Nature brings;
Our meddling intellect
We murder to dissect
Enough of Science and of Art;
Close up these barren leaves;
That watches and receives.
MANHOOD.— C. A. Dana.
Dear, noble soul, wisely thy lot thou bearest \
And thus with thee bright angels make their dwelling. Bringing thee stores of strength when no man know
eth; The ocean-stream from God's heart ever swelling, That forth through each least thing in Nature goeth9 In thee, O truest hero, deeper floweth ; — "With joy I bathe, and many souls beside Feel a new life in the celestial tide.
THE CLOVD. —Shelley
I Bring fresh showers for the thirsting flowers,
From the seas and the streams;
In their noonday dreams.
The sweet buds every one,
As she dances about the sun.
And whiten the-green plains under, And then again 1 dissolve in rain,
And laugh as I pass in thunder.
I sift the snow on the mountains below,
And their great pines groan aghast; And all the night 't is my pillow white,
While I sleep in the arms of the blast.
Lightning my pilot sits;
It struggles and howls at fits;
278 THE CLOUD.
Over earth and ocean, with gentle motion,
This pilot is guiding me,
In the depths of the purple sea;
Over the lakes and the plains,
The spirit he loves remains;
Whilst he is dissolving in rains.
The sanguine sunrise, with his meteor eyes, And his burning plumes outspread,
When the morning star shines dead.
Which an earthquake rocks and swings, An eagle alit one moment may sit
In the light of its golden wings. And when sunset may breathe, from the lit sea beneath,
Its ardors of rest and of love, And the crimson pall of eve may fall
From the depth of heaven above, With wings folded I rest, on mine airy nest, As still ay a brooding dove.
That orbed maiden, with white fire laden,
Whom mortals call the moon,
B y the midnight breezes strewn;
Which only the angels hear, May have broken the woof of my tent's thin roof,
The stars peep behind her and peer; And I laugh to see them whirl and flee,
Like a swarm of golden bees,
When I widen the rent in my wind-built tent,
Like strips of the sky fallen through me on high,
I bind the sun's throne with a burning zone,
And the moon's with a girdle of pearl; The volcanoes are dim, and the stars reel and swim,
When the whirlwinds my banner unfurl. From cape to cape, with a bridge-like shape,
Over a torrent sea,
The mountains its columns be.
With hurricane, fire, and snow,
Is the million-colored bow;
While the moist earth was laughing below.
I am the daughter of earth and water,
And the nursling of the sky;
I change, but I cannot die.
The pavilion of heaven is bare, And the winds and sunbeams, with their convex gleams,
Build up the blue dome of air, I silently laugh at my own cenotaph,
And out of the caverns of rain, Like a child from the womb, like a ghost from the tomb,
I arise and unbuild it again.