One summer-day I chanced to see The mattock tottered in his hand; He might have worked for ever. "You're overtasked, good Simon Lee, I struck, and with a single blow At which the poor old Man so long The tears into his eyes were brought, 75 80 85 90 I've heard of hearts unkind, kind deeds With coldness still returning ; Alas! the gratitude of men Hath oftener left me mourning. 95 1798. LINES WRITTEN IN EARLY SPRING. I HEARD a thousand blended notes, In that sweet mood when pleasant thoughts To her fair works did Nature link 5 The human soul that through me ran; And much it grieved my heart to think What man has made of man. Through primrose tufts, in that green bower, And 't is my faith that every flower Enjoys the air it breathes. IO The birds around me hopped and played, Their thoughts I cannot measure : — But the least motion which they made 15 It seemed a thrill of pleasure. The budding twigs spread out their fan, And I must think, do all I can, That there was pleasure there. 20 If this belief from heaven be sent, Have I not reason to lament What man has made of man? TO MY SISTER. It is the first mild day of March: The redbreast sings from the tall larch There is a blessing in the air, 1798. Which seems a sense of joy to yield To the bare trees, and mountains bare, My sister! ('t is a wish of mine) Edward will come with you; - and, pray, Put on with speed your woodland dress; No joyless forms shall regulate We from to-day, my Friend, will date 5 1Ο 15 20 Love, now a universal birth, From heart to heart is stealing, From earth to man, from man to earth : It is the hour of feeling. And from the blessed power that rolls We'll frame the measure of our souls: 35 They shall be tuned to love. Then come, my Sister! come, I pray, 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? 40 1798. "Where are your books? 33 To Beings else forlorn and blind! "You look round on your Mother Earth, One morning thus, by Esthwaite lake, "The eye — it cannot choose but see; "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? "Then ask not wherefore, here, alone, Conversing as I may, I sit upon this old grey stone, And dream my time away." IO 15 20 25 30 1798. |