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"Or of the church-clock and the chimes Sing here, beneath the shade,
That half-mad thing of witty rhymes
In silence Matthew lay, and eyed
"No check, no stay, this Streamlet fears; How merrily it goes!
'T will murmur on a thousand years,
And flow as now it flows.
"And here, on this delightful day,
I cannot choose but think
How oft, a vigorous man, I lay
Beside this fountain's brink.
"My eyes are dim with childish tears,
My heart is idly stirred,
For the same sound is in my ears
Which in those days I heard.
"Thus fares it still in our decay :
And yet the wiser mind
Mourns less for what age takes away,
Than what it leaves behind.
"The blackbird amid leafy trees,
The lark above the hill,
Let loose their carols when they please, Are quiet when they will.
"With Nature never do they wage
A foolish strife; they see
A happy youth, and their old age
Is beautiful and free:
"But we are pressed by heavy laws;
And often, glad no more,
We wear a face of joy, because
We have been glad of yore.
"If there be one who need bemoan
His kindred laid in earth,
The household hearts that were his own,
It is the man of mirth.
"My days, my Friend, are almost gone;
My life has been approved,
And many love me; but by none
Am I enough beloved."
"Now both himself and me he wrongs,
The man who thus complains!
I live and sing my
Upon these happy plains;
"And, Matthew, for thy children dead,
At this he grasped my hand, and said,
We rose up from the fountain-side;
Of the green sheep-track did we glide;
And, ere we came to Leonard's rock,
About the crazy old church-clock,
I AM not one who much or oft delight
Painted on rich men's floors, for one feast-night.
"Yet life," you say, "is life; we have seen and see,
Sound sense, and love itself, and mirth and glee,
Wings have we, - and as far as we can go
Dreams, books, are each a world; and books,
Are a substantial world, both pure and good:
To which I listen with a ready ear;
Two shall be named, preeminently dear,-
Nor can I not believe but that hereby
And thus from day to day my little boat