Not in the mines beyond the western main, Nor is it silver of romantic Spain But from our loved Helvellyn's depths was brought, XLVIII. MOST sweet it is with unuplifted eyes To pace the ground, if path be there or none, Pleased rather with some soft ideal scene, The beauty coming and the beauty gone. If Thought and Love desert us, from that day Let us break off all commerce with the Muse: With Thought and Love companions of our way, Whate'er the senses take or may refuse, The Mind's internal heaven shall shed her dews Of inspiration on the humblest lay. VOL. IV. POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. I. EXPOSTULATION AND REPLY. [THIS poem is a favorite among the Quakers, as I have learnt on many occasions. It was composed in front of the house at Alfoxden, in the spring of 1798.] "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? Where are your books ?—that light bequeathed To Beings else forlorn and blind! Up! up! and drink the spirit breathed 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 Think you, 'mid all this mighty sum Then ask not wherefore, here, alone, I sit upon this old grey stone, 1798. II. THE TABLES TURNED. AN EVENING SCENE ON THE SAME SUBJECT. UP! up! my Friend, and quit your books; Or surely you'll grow double: Up! up! my Friend, and clear your looks; Why all this toil and trouble? The sun, above the mountain's head, Through all the long green fields has spread, His first sweet evening yellow. Books! 'tis a dull and endless strife: Come, hear the woodland linnet, How sweet his music! on my life, There's more of wisdom in it. And hark! how blithe the throstle sings! He, too, 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- |