A book of English poetry; ed. by T. Shorter

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"No check, no atay thla. Streamlet f"ean;
H ow merrily it goea I
'Twill murmur on a thoU811nd yeara 1
Alld t!ow sa now it tlowL
"And here on this delightful day,
I cannot choose but think
How oft, a vigorous man 1 I lay
Beside this fountain's t>riuk.

"My eyes are dim with childish teat"8o
My hea.rt is idly atirr'd,
For the same aound ia in my ean
Which in those daya I beard.
"Thus fares it &till in our decay!
And yet the wiaer mind
Mourns leea for what age takes away,
Than what it lea vee behind.

(^11) The blackbird amid lea.fy trees,
The lark above the hill,
Let l0011e their carole when they please,
Are quiet when they will.
"With nature never do tky wage
A foolish etrife; they aee
A happy Y?uth, a.nd their old age
Ia beaut1ful and free :
"But we are preSB'd by heavy laWll,
Anli often, glad no more,
We wear a face of joy, because
We have been glad of yore.
"If there ia one who need a bemoan
Hia kindred laid in earth,
The household hearts that were hie own,
It ia the man of mirth.
"My days, my Friend, are almost gone,
My life baa been approved,
And many love me ; bitt by none
Am I enough beloved."
"Now both himaelfand me he wrongs,
The man wbo thus oomplain.a I
I live and eing my idle eon~
Upon these happy plain.a.

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