Nature's old felicities.

All men feel a habitual gratitude, and something of an honorable bigotry, for the objects which have long continued to please them.

One impulse from a vernal wood May teach you more of man, Of moral evil and of good, Than all the sages can.

Mark the babe not long accustomed to this breathing world; One that hath barely learned to shape a smile, though yet irrational of soul, to grasp with tiny finger - to let fall a tear; And, as the heavy cloud of sleep dissolves, To stretch his limbs, becoming, as might seem. The outward functions of intelligent man.

Look for the stars, you'll say that there are none; / Look up a second time, and, one by one, / You mark them twinkling out with silvery light, / And wonder how they could elude the sight!

But who would force the soul tilts with a straw Against a champion cased in adamant

A lawyer art thou? Draw not nigh! Go, carry to some fitter place The keenness of that practised eye, The hardness of that sallow face.