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And, as the sun goes round-a sun not ours-
While from her lap another Nature showers
Gifts of her own, some from the crowd retire,
Think on themselves, within, without inquire;
At distance dwell on all that passes there,
All that their world reveals of good and fair;
And, as they wander, picturing things, like me,
Not as they are but as they ought to be,
Trace out the Journey through their little Day,
And fondly dream an idle hour away.

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NOTES.

P. 66, 1. 17.

Our pathway leads but to a precipice; SEE Bossuet, Sermon sur la Résurrection.

P. 66, 1. 28.

We fly; no resting for the foot we find;

"I have considered," says Solomon, "all the works that are under the sun; and behold, all is vanity and vexation of spirit." But who believes it, till Death tells it us? It is Death alone that can suddenly make man to know himself. He tells the proud and insolent, that they are but abjects, and humbles them at the instant. He takes the account of the rich man, and proves him a beggar, a naked beggar. He holds a glass before the eyes of the most beautiful, and makes them see therein their deformity; and they acknowledge it.

O eloquent, just, and mighty Death! whom none could advise, thou hast persuaded; what none have dared, thou hast done; and whom all the world have flattered, thou only hast cast out and despised: thou hast drawn together all the far-stretched greatness, all the pride, cruelty and ambition of man, and covered it all over with these two narrow words, Hic jacet.

RALEIGH.

P. 67, 1. 14.

Through the dim curtains of Futurity.

Fancy can hardly forbear to conjecture with what temper Milton surveyed the silent progress of his work, and marked his reputation stealing its way in a kind of subterraneous current through fear and silence. I cannot but conceive him calm and confident, little disappointed, not at all dejected, relying on his own merit with steady consciousness, and waiting, without impatience, the vicissitudes of opinion, and the impartiality of a future generation. JOHNSON.

After 1. 14, in the MS.

O'er place and time we triumph; on we go,
Ranging at will the realms above, below;
Yet, ah, how little of ourselves we know!
And why the heart beats on, or how the brain
Says to the foot, "Now move, now rest again."
From age to age we search and search in vain.
P. 67, 1. 27.

Do what he will, &c.

These ideas, whence are they derived; or, as Plato would have expressed himself, how were they acquired? There could not be a better argument for his doctrine of a præ-existent state.

P. 68, 1. 15.

But soon 'tis past—

This light, which is so heavenly in its lustre, and which is every where and on every thing when we look round us on our arrival here; which, while it lasts, never leaves us, rejoicing us by night as well as by day and lighting up our very dreams; yet, when

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