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Thy thoughts and feelings shall not die,

Nor leave thee, when grey hairs are nigh,

A melancholy slave;

But an old age, alive and bright,

And lovely as a Lapland night,

Shall lead thee to thy grave.

"—Pleasure is spread through the earth

In stray gifts to be claim'd by whoever shall find."


By their floating Mill, Which lies dead and still, Behold yon Prisoners three!

The Miller with two Dames, on the breast of the Thames; The Platform is small, but there's room for them all; And they're dancing merrily.

From the shore come the notes

To their Mill where it floats, To their House and their Mill tether'd fast; To the small wooden le where their work to beguile They from morning to even take whatever is given ; — And many a blithe day they have past.

In sight of the Spires

All alive with the fires Of the Sun going down to his rest, In the broad open eye of the solitary sky, They dance,— there are three, as jocund as free, While they dance on the calm river's breast.

Man and Maidens wheel,

They themselves make the Reel,

And their Music's a prey which they seize;

It plays not for them,—what matter! 'tis their's;

And if they had care it has scattered their cares,

While they dance, crying, "Long as ye please!"

They dance not for me,

Yet mine is their glee! Thus pleasure is spread through the earth In stray gifts to beclaim'd by whoever shall find; Thus a rich loving-kindness, redundantly kind, Moves all nature to gladness and mirth.

The Showers of the Spring

Rouze the Birds and they sing; If the Wind do but stir for his proper delight, Each Leaf, that and this, his neighbour will kiss, Each Wave, one and t'other, speeds after his Brother; They are happy, for that is their right!


What crowd is this? what have we here! we must not pass it by;

A Telescope upon its frame, and pointed to the sky: Long is it as a Barber's Poll, or Mast of little Boat, Some little Pleasure-Skiff, that doth on Thames's waters float.

The Show-man chuses well his place, 'tis Leicester's busy Square;

And he's as happy in his night, for the heavens are

blue and fair; Calm, though impatient is the Crowd; Each is ready

with the fee,

And envies him that's looking—what an insight must it be!

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