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 dull and endless strife, Come, here 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 meddling 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.
ANIMAL TRANQUILLITY & DECAY
A SKETCH.
The little hedge-row birds That peck along the road, regard him not. He travels on, and in his face, his step, His gait, is one expression; every limb, His look and bending figure, all bespeak A man who does not move with pain, but moves With thought—He is insensibly subdued To settled quiet: he is one by whom All effort seems forgotten, one to whom Long patience has such mild composure given, That patience now doth seem a thing, of which He hath no need. He is by nature led To peace so perfect, that the young behold With envy, what the old man hardly feels. —I asked him whither he was bound, and what The object of his journey; he replied That he was going many miles to take A last leave of his son, a mariner, Who from a sea-fight had been brought to Falmouth, And there was lying in an hospital.