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Who sits at his own door, and, like the 160
That overhangs his head from the green

Feeds in the sunshine; the robust and

120 The prosperous and unthinking, they who live

Sheltered, and flourish in a little grove Of their own kindred;-all behold in him A silent monitor, which on their minds Must needs impress a transitory thought 125 Of self-congratulation, to the heart

Of each recalling his peculiar boons,
His charters and exemptions; and, per-

Though he to no one give the fortitude
And circumspection needful to preserve

Their kindred, and the children of their blood.

Praise be to such, and to their slumbers peace!

-But of the poor man ask, the abject poor;

Go, and demand of him, if there be here
In this cold abstinence from evil deeds,
And these inevitable charities,
Wherewith to satisfy the human soul?
No-man is dear to man; the poorest poor
Long for some moments in a weary life
When they can know and feel that they
have been,

150 Themselves, the fathers and the dealers-out
Of some small blessings; have been kind
to such

As needed kindness, for this single cause,
That we have all of us one human heart.
-Such pleasure is to one kind being


My neighbor, when with punctual care, each week,

Duly as Friday comes, though pressed herself

By her own wants, she from her store of meal

Takes one unsparing handful for the scrip
Of this old mendicant, and, from her door
Returning with exhilarated heart,
Sits by her fire, and builds her hope in

Then let him pass, a blessing on his head! And while in that vast solitude to which The tide of things has borne him, he


165 To breathe and live but for himself alone,
Unblamed, uninjured, let him bear about
The good which the benignant law of

Has hung around him: and, while life is his,

Still let him prompt the unlettered villagers 170 To tender offices and pensive thoughts.

-Then let him pass, a blessing on his head!
And, long as he can wander, let him breathe

The freshness of the valleys; let his blood 15 Through beds of matted fern, and tangled


Struggle with frosty air and winter snows; 175 And let the chartered1 wind that sweeps

the heath

Beat his gray locks against his withered face.

Reverence the hope whose vital anxiousness Gives the last human interest to his heart. May never House, misnamed of Industry,2 180 Make him a captive!-for that pent-up din,

Beneath the trees, or on a grassy bank Of highway side, and with the little birds 195 Share his chance-gathered meal; and, finally,

As in the eye of Nature he has lived,
So in the eye of Nature let him die!


Those life-consuming sounds that clog
the air,

Be his the natural silence of old age!
Let him be free of mountain solitudes;
And have around him, whether heard
or not,

185 The pleasant melody of woodland birds.
Few are his pleasures: if his eyes have now
Been doomed so long to settle upon earth
That not without some effort they behold
The countenance of the horizontal sun,
190 Rising or setting, let the light at least

A temper known to those who, after long
And weary expectation, have been blest
With sudden happiness beyond all hope.
Perhaps it was a bower beneath whose


Find a free entrance to their languid orbs, And let him, where and when he will, sit down

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Forcing my way, I came to one dear nook
Unvisited, where not a broken bough
Drooped with its withered leaves, un-
gracious sign


Of devastation; but the hazels rose
Tall and erect, with tempting clusters

A virgin scene!-A little while I stood, Breathing with such suppression of the heart


As joy delights in; and with wise restraint
Voluptuous, fearless of a rival, eyed
The banquet;-
;-or beneath the trees I sate
Among the flowers, and with the flowers
I played;

The violets of five seasons reappear And fade, unseen by any human eye; Where fairy water-breaks' do murmur on Forever; and I saw the sparkling foam, 35 And-with my cheek on one of those green stones

That, fleeced with moss, under the shady trees,

Lay round me, scattered like a flock of sheep

I heard the murmur and the, murmuring sound,

In that sweet mood when pleasure loves to pay

40 Tribute to ease; and, of its joy secure,
The heart luxuriates with indifferent

Wasting its kindliness on stocks and stones,
And on the vacant air. Then up I rose,
And dragged to earth both branch and
bough, with crash

45 And merciless ravage: and the shady nook
Of hazels, and the green and mossy bower,
Deformed and sullied, patiently gave up
Their quiet being: and unless I now
Confound my present feelings with the


50 Ere from the mutilated bower I turned
Exulting, rich beyond the wealth of kings,
I felt a sense of pain when I beheld
The silent trees, and saw the intruding

Then, dearest maiden, move along these shades

55 In gentleness of heart; with gentle hand Touch-for there is a spirit in the woods. 1 ripples

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In one of those sweet dreams I slept,
Kind Nature's gentlest boon!
And all the while my eyes I kept
20 On the descending moon.

My horse moved on; hoof after hoof
He raised, and never stopped:
When down behind the cottage roof,
At once, the bright moon dropped.

"O mercy!" to myself I cried, "If Lucy should be dead!"'


She dwelt among the untrodden ways
Beside the springs of Dove,

A maid whom there were none to praise
And very few to love:

5 A violet by a mossy stone

Half hidden from the eye! -Fair as a star, when only one Is shining in the sky.

She lived unknown, and few could know
When Lucy ceased to be;

But she is in her grave, and, oh,

The difference to me!

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"Myself will to my darling be
Both law and impulse: and with me
The girl, in rock and plain,

25 What fond and wayward thoughts will slide 10 In earth and heaven, in glade and bower, Into a lover's head!

Shall feel an overseeing power
To kindle or restrain.


I travelled among unknown men,
In lands beyond the sea;
Nor, England! did I know till then
What love I bore to thee.

5 'Tis past, that melancholy dream!
Nor will I quit thy shore
A second time; for still I seem
To love thee more and more.

Among thy mountains did I feel
The joy of my desire;

And she I cherished turned her wheel
Beside an English fire.

Thy mornings showed, thy nights concealed,
The bowers where Lucy played;
15 And thine too is the last green field
That Lucy's eyes surveyed.


Three years she grew in sun and shower,
Then Nature said, "A lovelier flower
On earth was never sown;
This child I to myself will take;
5 She shall be mine, and I will make
A lady of my own.

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