_Winter Evening_.
And while the bubbling and loud hissing urn
Throws up a steamy column, and the cups
That cheer, but not inebriate, wait on each,
So let us welcome peaceful evening in.
* * * * *
'Tis pleasant, through the loopholes of retreat,
To peep at such a world; to see the stir
Of the great Babel, and not feel the crowd.
* * * * *
Book v. _Winter Morn in a Walk_.
He is the freeman whom the truth makes free.
* * * * *
Book vi. _Winter Walk at Noon_.
There is in souls a sympathy with sounds;
And as the mind is pitched, the ear is pleased
With melting airs, or martial, brisk or grave;
Some chord in unison with what we hear
Is touched within us, and the heart replies.
* * * * *
Here the heart
May give a useful lesson to the head,
And Learning wiser grow without his books.
_Tirocinium_.
Shine by the side of every path we tread
With such a lustre, he that runs may read.
* * * * *
_Retirement_.
Built God a church, and laughed His word to scorn.
* * * * *
How sweet, how passing sweet is solitude!
But grant me still a friend in my retreat,
Whom I may whisper, Solitude is sweet.
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