"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, "The eye it cannot chuse but see, 66 66 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. 66 Think you, mid all this mighty sum "Of things for ever speaking, 66 That nothing of itself will come, "But we must still be seeking? 66 -Then ask not wherefore, here, alone, "Conversing as I may, 66 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, Up! up! my friend, and quit your books, 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 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, One impulse from a vernal wood Than all the sages can. |