"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,
When life was sweet I knew not why,
To me my good friend Matthew spake,
And thus I made reply.

"The eye it cannot chuse but see,
"We cannot bid the ear be still;
"Our bodies feel, where'er they be,
"Against, or with our will.

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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.

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Think you, mid all this mighty sum "Of things for ever speaking,

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That nothing of itself will come,

"But we must still be seeking?

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-Then ask not wherefore, here, alone, "Conversing as I may,

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I sit upon this old grey stone,

"And dream my time away."

THE TABLES TURNED;

AN EVENING SCENE, ON THE SAME SUBJECT.

UP! up! my friend, and clear your looks,
Why all this toil and trouble?

Up! up! my friend, and quit your books,
Or surely you'll grow double.

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,
Come, hear the woodland linnet,

How sweet his music; on my life

There's more of wisdom in it.

And hark! how blithe the throstle sings!

And he is no mean preacher;

Come forth into the light of things,

Let Nature be your teacher.

She has a world of ready wealth,
Our minds and hearts to bless-
Spontaneous wisdom breathed by health,
Truth breathed by chearfulness.

One impulse from a vernal wood
May teach you more of man;
Of moral evil and of good,

Than all the sages can.

Sweet is the lore which nature brings;

Our middling intellect

Mishapes the beauteous forms of things;

-We murder to dissect.

Enough of science and of art;

Close up these barren leaves;

Come forth, and bring with you a heart

That watches and receives.