Nature never did betray the heart that loved her.
The feather, whence the pen Was shaped that traced the lives of these good men, Dropped from an angel's wing.
Thou unassuming common-place of Nature, with that homely face.
Meek Walton's heavenly memory.
The soft blue sky did never melt Into his heart; he never felt The witchery of the soft blue sky!
Sad fancies do we then affect, In luxury of disrespect To our own prodigal excess Of too familiar happiness.