THE TABLES TURNED. AN EVENING SCENE ON THE SAME SUBJECT. UP! up! my Friend, and quit your books; Up! up my Friend, and clear your looks; The sun, above the mountain's head, A freshening lustre mellow Through all the long green fields has spread, His first sweet evening yellow. Books! 't is a dull and endless strife: Come, hear the woodland linnet, How sweet his music! on my life, There's more of wisdom in it. And hark! how blithe the throstle sings ! He, too, is no mean preacher: Come forth into the light of things, Let Nature be your teacher. She has a world of ready wealth, 5 ΙΟ 15 Our minds and hearts to bless — Spontaneous wisdom breathed by health, One impulse from a vernal wood Of moral evil and of good, Than all the sages can. Sweet is the lore which Nature brings; Mis-shapes the beauteous forms of things:- 20 25 Written at Alfoxden, where I read Hearne's Journey with deep interest. It was composed for the volume of Lyrical Ballads. When a Northern Indian, from sickness, is unable to continue his journey with his companions, he is left behind, covered over with deer-skins, and is supplied with water, food, and fuel, if the situation of the place will afford it. He is informed of the track which his companions intend to pursue, and if he be unable to follow, or overtake them, he perishes alone in the desert; unless he should have the good fortune to fall in with some other tribes of Indians. The females are equally, or still more, exposed to the same fate. See that very interesting work, HEARNE's Journey from Hudson's Bay to the Northern Ocean. In the high northern latitudes, as the same writer informs us, when the northern lights vary their position in the air, they make a rustling and a crackling noise, as alluded to in the following poem. I. BEFORE I see another day, Oh let my body die away! In sleep I heard the northern gleams; And yet they are upon my eyes, Before I see another day, Oh let my body die away! II. My fire is dead: it knew no pain; When I was well, I wished to live, For clothes, for warmth, for food, and fire; No pleasure now, and no desire, A woman who was not thy mother. Through his whole body something ran, 35 A most strange working did I see; As if he strove to be a man, And then he stretched his arms, how wild! V. My little joy! my little pride! In two days more I must have died. O wind, that o'er my head art flying The way my friends their course did bend, VI. I'll follow you across the snow; 37 40 45 50 I'll look upon your tents again. With happy heart I then would die, 70 1798. THE OLD CUMBERLAND BEGGAR. The class of Beggars, to which the Old Man here described belongs, will probably soon be extinct. It consisted of poor, and, mostly, old and infirm persons, who confined themselves to a stated round in their neighbourhood, and had certain fixed days, on which, at different houses, they regularly received alms, sometimes in money, but mostly in provisions. I SAW an aged Beggar in my walk; And he was seated, by the highway side, Built at the foot of a huge hill, that they Who lead their horses down the steep rough road 5 Had placed his staff across the broad smooth stone All white with flour, the dole of village dames, IO And scanned them with a fixed and serious look 15 And ever, scattered from his palsied hand, 20 |