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That we have all of us one human heart.
-Such pleasure is to one kind Being known,
My neighbour, when with punctual care, each weel
Duly as Friday comes, though prest herself
By her own wants, she from her store of meal
Takes one unsparing handful for the scrip
Of this old Mendicant, and, from her door
Returning with exhilarated heart,

Sits by her fire, and builds her hope in Heaven.

Then let him pass, a blessing on his head! And while in that vast solitude to which The tide of things has borne him, he appears To breathe and live but for himself alone, Unblamed, uninjured, let him bear about The good which the benignant law of Heaven Has hung around him: and, while life is his, Still let him prompt the unlettered villagers To tender offices and pensive thoughts. -Then let him pass, a blessing on his head! And, long as he can wander, let him breathe The freshness of the valleys; let his blood Struggle with frosty air and winter snows; And let the chartered wind that sweeps the heath Beat his gray locks against his withered face. Reverence the hope whose vital anxiousness Gives the last human interest to his heart. May never House, misnamed of INDUSTRY, Make him a captive! for that pent-up din, Those life consuming sounds that clog the air, Be his the natural silence of old age! Let him be free of mountain solitudes;

And have around him, whether heard or not,
The pleasant melody of woodland birds.
Few are his pleasures: if his eyes have now
Been doomed so long to settle on the earth
That not without some effort they behold
The countenance of the horizontal sun,
Rising or setting, let the light at least
Find a free entrance to their languid orbs.
And let him, where and when he will, sit down
Beneath the trees, or by the grassy bank
Of highway side, and with the little birds
Share his chance-gathered meal; and, finally,
As in the eye of Nature he has lived,
So in the eye of Nature let him die!

THE FRENCH ARMY IN RUSSIA

HUMANITY, delighting to behold

A fond reflection of her own decay,
Hath painted Winter like a Traveller-old,

Propped on a staff-and, through the sullen day,
In hooded mantle, limping o'er the plain,

As though his weakness were disturbed by pain:
Or, if a juster fancy should allow

An undisputed symbol of command,
The chosen sceptre is a withered bough,

Infirmly grasped within a palsied hand.
These emblems suit the helpless and forlorn,
But mighty Winter the device shall scorn.

For he it was-dread Winter! who beset-
Flinging round van and rear his ghastly net-
That host,-when from the regions of the Pole
They shrunk, insane ambition's barren goal,
That Host, as huge and strong as e'er defied
Their God, and placed their trust in human pride.
As fathers persecute rebellious sons,

He smote the blossoms of their warrior youth;

He called on Frost's inexorable tooth

Life to consume in manhood's firmest hold;

Nor spared the reverend blood that feebly runs,

For why, unless for liberty enrolled

And sacred home, ah! why should heary Age be bold ?

Fleet the Tartar's reinless steed,

But fleeter far the pinions of the Wind,

Which from Siberian caves the Monarch freed,
And sent him forth, with squadrons of his kind,
And bade the Snow their ample backs bestride,
And to the battle ride.

No pitying voice commands a halt,
No courage can repel the dire assault;
Distracted, spiritless, benumbed, and blind,
Whole legions sink-and, in one instant, find
Burial and death: look for them-aud descry,
When morn returns, beneath the clear blue sky
A soundless waste, a trackless vacancy'

LUCY.

Three years she grew in sun and shower,
Then Nature said "A lovelier flower
On earth was never sown;
This Child I to myself will take;
She shall be mine, and I will make
A Lady of my own.

Myself will to my darling be

Both law and impulse: and with me,
The Girl, in rock and plain,

In earth and heaven, in glade and bower,
Shall feel an overseeing power,

T kindle or restrain.

She shall be sportive as the Fawn
That wild with glee across the lawn
Or up the mountain springs;
And hers shall be the breathing balm,
And hers the silence and the calm,
Of mute insensate things.

The floating Clouds their state shall lend To her; for her the willow bend;

Nor shall she fail to see,

Even in the motions of the Storm

Grace that shall mould the Maiden's form By silent sympathy.

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