Vain thought! yet be as now thou art, The image of a poet's heart, How bright, how solemn, how serene! Such heart did once the poet bless, Who, pouring here a * later ditty, Remembrance! as we glide along, For him suspend the dashing oar, * Collins's Ode on the death of Thomson, the last written, I believe, of the poems which were published during his life-time. This Ode is also alluded to in the next stanza. EXPOSTULATION AND REPLY. Why William, on that old grey stone, "Thus for the length of half a day, "Why William, sit you thus alone, "And dream your time away? "Where are your books? that light bequeath'd "To beings else forlorn and blind! "Up! Up! and drink the spirit breath'd "From dead men to their kind. "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, "We cannot bid the ear be still; "Our bodies feel, where'er they be, "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. "Think you, mid all this mighty sum "Of things for ever speaking, "That nothing of itself will come, "But we must still be seeking? *86 Then ask not wherefore, here, alone, "Conversing as I may, "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, 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. |