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RESOLUTION AND INDEPENDENCE.
Even such a happy child of earth am I; RESOLUTION AND INDEPENDENCE. Even as these blissful creatures do I fare; Far from the world I walk, and from all care. But there may come another day to me—
THERE was a roaring in the wind all night-Solitude, pain of heart, distress, and poverty.
All things that love the sun are out of doors;
The hare is running races in her mirth;
The jay makes answer as the magpie chat- As if all needful things would come unsought To genial faith, still rich in genial good;
And all the air is filled with pleasant noise of But how can he expect that others should
Build for him, sow for him, and at his call Love him, who for himself will take no heed at all?
Of joy in minds that can no further go,
nor could name.
My whole life I have lived in pleasant thought,
As if life's business were a summer mood
I heard the skylark warbling in the sky;
I was a traveller then upon the moor;
Now, whether it were by peculiar grace,
I heard the woods and distant waters roar-
When I with these untoward thoughts had
I thought of Chatterton, the marvellous boy,
By our own spirits we are deified;
Beside a pool bare to the eye of heaven
But, as it sometimes chanceth, from the The oldest man he seemed that ever wore might
As a huge stone is sometimes seen to lie
So that it seems a thing endued with sense-
What little town by river or sea shore,
Is emptied of its folk, this pious morn? And, little town, thy streets for evermore Will silent be; and not a soul, to tell
Why thou art desolate, can e'er return.
O Attic shape! Fair attitude! with brede
Of marble men and maidens overwrought, With forest branches and the trodden weed! Thou, silent form! dost tease us out of thought,
As doth eternity. Cold pastoral!
When old age shall this generation waste, Thou shalt remain, in midst of other woe Than ours, a friend to man, to whom thou say'st "Beauty is truth, truth beauty,"—that is all Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know.
THE MEANS TO ATTAIN HAPPY LIFE.
MARTIAL, the things that do attain
The happy life be these, I findThe riches left, not got with pain;
The fruitful ground, the quiet mind,
The equal friend; no grudge, no strife;
No charge of rule, nor governance; Without disease, the healthful life;
The household of continuance;
The mean diet, no delicate fare;
True wisdom joined with simpleness; The night discharged of all care,
Where wine the wit may not oppress;
The faithful wife, without debate;
Such sleeps as may beguile the night; Contented with thine own estate,
Ne wish for death, ne fear his might.
HENCE, loathed Melancholy,
Of Cerberus and blackest Midnight born!
In Stygian cave forlorn,
'Mongst horrid shapes, and shrieks, and sights unholy,
Find out some uncouth cell,
Where brooding Darkness spreads his jealous wings,
And the night-raven sings;
There, under ebon shades, and lowbrowed rocks,
As ragged as thy locks,
In dark Cimmerian desert ever dwell. But come, thou goddess fair and free, In heav'n y-cleped Euphrosyne, And, by men, heart-easing Mirth! Whom lovely Venus, at a birth With two sister Graces more, To ivy-crowned Bacchus bore; Or whether (as some sages sing) The frolic wind that breathes the spring, Zephyr, with Aurora playing— As he met her once a-MayingThere, on beds of violets blue And fresh-blown roses washed in dew, Filled her with thee, a daughter fair, So buxom, blithe, and debonair.
Haste thee, nymph, and bring with thee Jest, and youthful Jollity—
Quips and cranks and wanton wiles,
From his watch-tow'r in the skies,
Straight mine eye hath caught new pleas-
Whilst the landscape round it measures
Sometimes with secure delight
Till the live-long daylight fail;
Towered cities please us then, And the busy hum of men, Where throngs of knights and barons bold In weeds of peace high triumphs hold— With store of ladies, whose bright eyes Rain influence, and judge the prize Of wit or arms, while both contend To win her grace whom all commend. There let Hymen oft appear In saffron robe, with taper clear, And pomp and feast and revelry, With mask, and antique pageantry— Such sights as youthful poets dream On summer eves by haunted stream: Then to the well-trod stage anon, If Jonson's learned sock be on, Or sweetest Shakspeare, Fancy's child, Warble his native wood-notes wild.
And ever, against eating cares, Lap me in soft Lydian airs, Married to immortal verse, Such as the meeting soul may pierce,