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Methinks that there abides in thee
Some concord with humanity,
Given to no other Flower I see
The forest thorough!

And wherefore? Man is soon deprest ;
A thoughtless Thing! who, once unblest,
Does little on his memory rest,

Or on his reason;

But Thou would'st teach him how to find
A shelter under every wind,

A hope for times that are unkind
And every season.

XVI.

TO A SKY-LARK.

Up with me! up with me into the clouds!
For thy song, Lark, is strong;

Up with me, up with me into the clouds!
Singing, singing,

With clouds and sky about thee ringing,
Lift me, guide me till I find

That spot which seems so to thy mind!

I have walked through wildernesses dreary And to-day my heart is weary ;

Had I now the wings of a Faery,

Up to thee would I fly.

There's madness about thee, and joy divine In that song of thine;

Lift me, guide me high and high

To thy banqueting-place in the sky.

Joyous as morning,

Thou art laughing and scorning;

Thou hast a nest for thy love and thy rest,
And, though little troubled with sloth,
Drunken Lark! thou would'st be loth
To be such a Traveller as I.

Happy, happy Liver,

With a soul as strong as a mountain River
Pouring out praise to the Almighty Giver,
Joy and jollity be with us both!

Alas! my journey, rugged and uneven,
Through prickly moors or dusty ways must wind ;
But hearing thee, or others of thy kind,
As full of gladness and as free of heaven,

I, with my fate contented, will plod on,

And hope for higher raptures, when Life's day is done.

XVII.

TO A SEXTON.

LET thy wheel-barrow alone
Wherefore, Sexton, piling still

In thy Bone-house bone on bone?
'Tis already like a hill

In a field of battle made,

Where three thousand skulls are laid;

These died in peace each with the other,
Father, Sister, Friend, and Brother.

Mark the spot to which I point!
From this platform, eight feet square,
Take not even a finger-joint:

Andrew's whole fire-side is there.

Here, alone, before thine eyes,

Simon's sickly daughter lies,

From weakness now, and pain defended, Whom he twenty winters tended.

Look but at the gardener's pride
How he glories, when he sees
Roses, Lilies, side by side,
Violets in families!

By the heart of Man, his tears,
By his hopes and by his fears,

Thou, old Grey-beard! art the Warden
Of a far superior garden.

Thus then, each to other dear,

Let them all in quiet lie,

Andrew there, and Susan here,

Neighbours in mortality.

And, should I live through sun and rain
Seven widowed years without my Jane,
O Sexton, do not then remove her,
Let one grave hold the Loved and Lover!

XVIII.

WHO fancied what a pretty sight
This Rock would be if edged around
With living Snow-drops? circlet bright!
How glorious to this Orchard-ground!
Who loved the little Rock, and set
Upon its head this Coronet?

Was it the humour of a Child?
Or rather of some love-sick Maid,
Whose brows, the day that she was styled
The Shepherd-queen, were thus arrayed?
Of Man mature, or Matron sage?
Or Old-man toying with his age?

I asked

'twas whispered, The device

To each and all might well belong :

It is the Spirit of Paradise

That prompts such work, a Spirit strong,

That gives to all the self-same bent

Where life is wise and innocent.

XIX.

SONG

FOR THE WANDERING JEW.

THOUGH the torrents from their fountains
Roar down many a craggy steep,

Yet they find among the mountains
Resting-places calm and deep.

Clouds that love through air to hasten,
Ere the storm its fury stills,

Helmet-like themselves will fasten
On the heads of towering hills.

What, if through the frozen centre
Of the Alps the Chamois bound,
Yet he has a home to enter
In some nook of chosen ground.

If on windy days the Raven
Gambol like a dancing skiff,
Not the less she loves her haven
In the bosom of the cliff.

Though the Sea-horse in the Ocean
Own no dear domestic cave,

Yet he slumbers - by the motion

-

Rocked of many a gentle wave.

The fleet Ostrich, till day closes,
Vagrant over Desert sands,

Brooding on her eggs reposes

When chill night that care demands.

Day and night my toils redouble,
Never nearer to the goal;

Night and day, I feel the trouble

Of the Wanderer in my soul.

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