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To her, methinks, a second Youth is given;
An hour like this is worth a thousand passed
And now once more where most he loved to be, In his own fields—breathing tranquillity We hail him-not less happy, Fox, than thee! Thee at St. Anne's so soon of Care beguiled, Playful, sincere, and artless as a child ! Thee, who wouldst watch a bird's nest on the spray, Through the green leaves exploring, day by day.
How oft from grove to grove, from seat to seat,
-But in thy place among us we behold
'Tis the sixth hour. The village-clock strikes from the distant tower. The ploughman leaves the field; the traveller hears, And to the inn spurs forward. Nature wears Her sweetest smile; the day-star in the west Yet hovering, and the thistle's down at rest.
And such, his labour done, the calm He knows, Whose footsteps we have followed. Round him glows An atmosphere that brightens to the last; The light, that shines, reflected from the Past, -And from the Future too! Active in Thought Among old books, old friends; and not unsought
At illa quanti sunt, animum tanquam emeritis stipendiis libidinis, ambitionis, contentionis, inimicitiarum, cupiditatum omnium, secum esse, secumque (ut dicitur) vivere ?-Cic. De Senectute.
By the wise stranger—in his morning-hours,
At night, when all, assembling round the fire,
* Hinc ubi jam emissum caveis ad sidera cæli
Nare per æstatem liquidam suspexeris agmen,
Contemplator.–VIRG. + Richard the First. For the romantic story here alluded to, we are indebted to the French Chroniclers.--See Faucher. Recueil de l'Origine de la Langue et Poësie Fr.
Or some great Caravan, from well to well