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“Think you, mid all this mighty sum
“—Then ask not wherefore, here, alone,
THE TABLES TURNED;
An EVENING SCENE, on the same Subjea.
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
Syeet is the lore which nature brings; Our meddling intelle&t
- Mishapes the beauteous forms of things; —we murder to dissect.
Enough of science and of art;
That watches and receives.
4MIMAL TRANQUILLITY and DECAY,
A S KETCH.
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