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What more he said I cannot tell,
The Stream came thundering down the dell
I listened, nor aught else could hear;
His simple truths did Andrew glean
Beside the babbling rills;
A careful student he had been
Among the woods and hills.
One winter's night, when through the trees
"I saw a crag, a lofty stone As ever tempest beat!
Out of its head an Oak had
A Broom out of its feet.
The time was March, a cheerful noon-
His neighbour thus addressed :
Eight weary weeks, through rock and clay, Along this mountain's edge,
The Frost hath wrought both night and day,
Wedge driving after wedge.
Look up! and think, above your head
You are preparing as before,
And yet, just three years back-no more-
Down from yon cliff a fragment broke;
This ponderous block was caught by me,
If breeze or bird to this rough steep
you and he, Heaven knows how soon! Will perish in one hour.
From me this friendly warning takeThe Broom began to doze,
And thus, to keep herself awake,
Did gently interpose:
"My thanks for your
discourse are due;
That more than what you say is true, I know, and I have known it long; Frail is the bond by which we hold Our being, whether young or old, Wise, foolish, weak, or strong.
Disasters, do the best we can,
Who is not wise at all.
For me, why should I wish to roam?
This spot is my paternal home,
It is my pleasant heritage;
My father many a happy year,
Spread here his careless blossoms, here
Attained a good old age.
Even such as his may be my lot.
My heart with terrors? Am I not
On me such bounty Summer pours,
The butterfly, all green and gold,
To me hath often flown,
Here in my blossoms to behold
When grass is chill with rain or dew,