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Shall be a mansion for all lovely Of suffering hath been thoroughly

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And go to the grave unthought of. Strongest minds

Are often those of whom the noisy world hears least.

[From The Excursion.]

THE DEAF DALESMAN.

ALMOST at the root Of that tall pine, the shadow of whose bare

And slender stem, while here I sit at

eve,

Oft stretches towards me, like a long straight path

Traced faintly in the greensward; there beneath

A plain blue stone, a gentle dalesman lies,

From whom, in early childhood, was withdrawn

The precious gift of hearing. He grew up

From year to year in loneliness of soul;

And this deep mountain valley was to him

Soundless, with all its streams. The bird of dawn

Did never rouse this cottager from sleep

With startling summons; nor for his delight

The vernal cuckoo shouted; not for him

Murmured the laboring bee. When stormy winds

Were working the broad bosom of the lake

Into a thousand thousand sparkling waves,

Rocking the trees, or driving cloud on cloud

Along the sharp edge of yon lofty crags,

The agitated scer e before his eye Was silent as a picture: evermore Were all things silent, wheresoe'er he moved;

Yet, by the solace of his own pure thoughts

Upheld, he duteously pursued the round

Of rural labors; the steep mountainside

Ascended, with his staff and faithful dog;

The plough he guided, and the scythe he swayed;

And the ripe corn before his sickle fell

Among the jocund reapers. For himself,

All watchful and industrious as he

was,

He wrought not; neither flock nor field he owned;

No wish for wealth had place within his mind:

Nor husband's love, nor father's hope

or care.

Though born a younger brother, need

was none

That from the floor of his paternal home

He should depart to plant himself

anew;

And when, mature in manhood, he beheld

His parents laid in earth, no loss ensued

Of rights to him; but he remained well pleased,

By the pure bond of independent love,

An inmate of a second family,
The fellow-laborer and friend of him
To whom the small inheritance had
fallen.

Nor deem that his mild presence was a weight

That pressed upon his brother's house, for books Were ready comrades whom he could not tire,

Of whose society the blameless man Was never satiate. Their familiar

voice, Even to old age, with unabated

charm

Beguiled his leisure hours, refreshed his thoughts;

Beyond its natural elevation, raised His introverted spirit, and bestowed Upon his life an outward dignity Which all acknowledged. The dark winter night,

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But for those obstinate questionings

Of sense and outward things, Fallings from us, vanishings; Black misgivings of a creature Moving about in worlds not realized, High instincts, before which our mortal nature

There, healthy as a shepherd-boy,
As if thy heritage were joy,
And pleasure were thy trade,
Thou, while thy babes around thee
cling,

Shalt show us how divine a thing
A woman may be made.

Did tremble like a guilty thing sur-Thy thoughts and feelings shall not

prised!

But for those first affections,
Those shadowy recollections,

Which, be they what they may, Are yet the fountain light of all our day,

Are yet a master light of all our seeing;

Uphold us - cherish and have power to make

Our noisy years seem moments in the being

Of the eternal silence: truths that

wake,

To perish never;

die, Nor leave thee when gray hairs are

nigh,

But an old age serene and bright,
A melancholy slave;
Shall lead thee to thy grave.
And lovely as a Lapland night,

THE DAFFodils.

I WANDERED lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and
hills,

Which neither listlessness, nor mad When all at once I saw a crowd,

endeavor,

Nor man nor boy,

Nor all that is at enmity with joy,
Can utterly abolish or destroy!
Hence, in a season of calm weather,
Though inland far we be,
Our souls have sight of that immor-
tal sea

Which brought us hither;
Can in a moment travel thither,
And see the children sport upon the
shore,

And hear the mighty waters rolling

evermore.

TO A YOUNG LADY,

A host of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

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The waves beside them danced, but
they

Outdid the sparkling waves in glee:
A poet could not but be gay,

In such a jocund company:

I gazed and gazed, but little thought

WHO HAD BEEN REPROACHED FOR TAKING LONG What wealth the show to me had

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TWILIGHT.

HAIL, Twilight, sovereign of one peaceful hour!

Not dull art thou as undiscerning Night;

But studious only to remove from sight

Day's mutable distinctions. Ancient power!

Thus did the waters gleam, the mountains lower

To the rude Briton, when, in wolfskin vest

Here roving wild, he laid him down to rest

On the bare rock, or through a leafy bower

Looked ere his eyes were closed. By him was seen

The selfsame vision which we now behold,

At thy meek bidding, shadowy power, brought forth;

These mighty barriers, and the gulf between;

The floods, the stars; a spectacle as old

As the beginning of the heavens and earth!

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Even thus last night, and two nights more, I lay, And could not win thee, Sleep! by any stealth:

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