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Bright, as if through ether steering,
To the traveller's eye it shone:
He hath hailed it re-appearing—
And as quickly it is gone;
Gone, as if for ever hidden;
Or misshapen to the sight,
And by sullen weeds forbidden
To resume its native light.
What is Youth ?—a dancing billow,
Winds behind, and rocks before!
Age?—a drooping, tottering willow
On a flat and lazy shore.
What is Peace ?—when pain is over,
And love ceases to rebel,
Let the last faint sigh discover
That precedes the passing knell!
Hast thou seen, with flash incessant,
Bubbles gliding under ice,
Bodied forth and evanescent,
No one knows by what device?
Such are thoughts!—A wind-swept meadow
Mimicking a troubled sea,
Such is life; and death a shadow
From the rock eternity!
FOK THE WANDERING JEW.
Though the torrents from their fountains
Clouds that love through air to hasten,
What, if through the frozen centre
If on windy days the raven
Though the sea-horse in the ocean
The fleet ostrich, till day closes
Day and night my toils redouble,
"IF THIS GREAT WORLD."
If this great world of joy and pain h Revolve in one sure track; If Freedom, set, will rise again, And Virtue, flown, come back;
Woe to the purblind crew who fill
Nor gain, from past or future, skill
WRITTEN IN AN ALBUM.
Small service is true service while-it lasts;
Of friends, however humble, scorn not one: The daisy, by the shadow that it casts,
Protects the lingering dew drop from the sun.
INTENDED FOR A STONE IN THE GROUNDS OF RYDAL MOUNT.
In these fair vales hath many a tree
At Wordsworth's suit been spared;
Was rescued by the bard:
When here the tender-hearted
As one of the departed.
and Son, Printers, Plymouth.